Cognitive Dissonance: Part Two
by Lesera128
Summary: Cognitive dissonance is mental strife caused by holding two conflicting ideas/desires at the same time. The dam broke one drunken night for B&B. Was it just physical or something more? Sequel to "Costly Signals." AU. Collab w/dharmamonkey. Complete.
1. Ch 11:Self Evaluation Maintenance Theory

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.~

**A/N: **"_**Cognitive Dissonance**_" is the sequel to "_**Costly Signals**_" (_**CS**_ for short). We strongly urge you to read _**CS **_because the events of "_**Cognitive Dissonance**_" pick up immediately after the end of _**CS **_. If you have not read _**CS**_this story will be, at best, extremely confusing, and will in all likelihood, probably not make any sense at all. "_**Costly Signals: Part One**_" may be viewed under **dharmamonkey**'s fan fic dot com profile, while "_**Costly Signals: Part Two**_" may be viewed under **Lesera128**'sfan fic dot com profile. This story is set towards the end of Season 3, a week or so before the events of "Wannabe in the Weeds." Like** CS, **this work is the product of a collaboration between** dharmamonkey** and **Lesera128**. The first half of this story, Chapters 1-10 have already been posted in their entirety under **dharmamonkey**'s profile for _**"Cognitive Dissonance: Part I**_." You need to read those chapters or the second half of this story posted below (Chapters 11-20) will make absolutely no sense.

And—just to remind everyone—like its predecessor, this story is definitely rated M for a reason... the last ten chapters particularly as it contains very naughty language, very grown-up situations, and some very, _very _unf encounters of the strictly guh kind. We realize that this story isn't for everyone, so if it doesn't sound like your thing, we're not hurt when you go to click the back button right about now. However, for those of you who plan to stick around, constructive criticism is both welcome and encouraged, but uselessly mean comments that complain, or have nothing substantive to contribute are ignored...so, no flames are required.

So, sit back, relax, and we shall now conclude this use of the Lesera128 public messaging system, as I've now taken over the posting duty reigns from a certain monkey. Should you be afraid? Oh, yeah. Be afraid. Be very afraid...~

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><p><strong>Chapter 11 - Self-Evaluation Maintenance Theory<strong>

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><p>One of Brennan's favorite quotes was not, as one might expect, from a scientist. No, this particular favorite quote was from a philosopher, albeit a philosopher of Ancient Greece, who'd been dead for almost two millennia. However, Plato's words had always resonated with her: <em>Music gives a soul to the universe, wings to the mind, flight to the imagination, and life to everything. <em>Although Booth often made fun of the more well-known musical preferences she publicized in the context of her work as anthropologist, Brennan actually had an eclectic palate where music was concerned. Although she didn't know the song titles or artists' names to save her own life (something Booth seemed to excel at, even though, between the two of them, she had the better memory), she had a diverse collection of mp3s on her iPod. A small part of her reveled in keeping that tiny secret to herself, since it seemed so at odds with the face she presented to the world. She didn't need to know who sang a song to know she liked it, and when she listened to music, as Plato said—she felt more inspired than at just about any other time in her life, perhaps save for when she was reconstructing a set of bones. It was to music that she had turned for inspiration now as the music blared loudly around her, the bass throbbing as it ensnared her in its metaphoric tentacles of tempo and rhythm.

_I recommend biting off more then you can chew to anyone  
>I certainly do<br>I recommend sticking your foot in your mouth at any time  
>Feel free<br>Throw it down (the caution blocks you from the wind)  
>Hold it up (to the rays)<br>You wait and see when the smoke clears_

The stereo speakers of Brennan's Toyota Prius were set at a volume that stretched them to their maximum levels, but not quite. The bass of the stereo pulsed around her, and Brennan felt a small amount of calm begin to wash over her as she concentrated on the stretch of highway that spread out in front of her. It was a time like this that Brennan regretted not being able to drive a manual transmission. She mentally made a promise to herself_—_for what seemed to be the fiftieth time_—_to ask for her dad or Russ to teach her how to drive a stick. For now, gunning the Prius' engine up to a speed of eighty miles per hour_—_a modest, but still illegal, ten miles above the speed limit_—_Dr. Temperance Brennan reveled in the only other way that she knew to assuage her nerves…driving. Another one of Brennan's dirty little secrets was revealed_—_besides Limbo, she did some of her best thinking when she could exercise her lead foot by driving hard, driving fast, and driving with the appropriate loud music blaring.

After Hastert had dropped her off at her apartment complex, and Brennan professionally offered her thanks, she stopped only long enough to run upstairs to change her clothes. Still clad in the Jeffersonian field jumpsuit and gumboots when she came home_—_as her change of clothes had been abandoned in the back of Booth's SUV in her haste to get away from the crime scene at Greenbelt Park and _him—_she had run upstairs quickly, sparing only a few minutes to change. Throwing on a casual cream colored knit blouse and dark blue denim skirt, Brennan didn't bother to consider if her outfit was appropriate or not for returning to the lab. All Brennan knew was that she needed a break. She needed some time by herself. She needed a chance to gather her thoughts, and to just _calm down—_and she needed it _now_.

As soon as she had dressed, Brennan bounded back down the stairs of her apartment building and threw herself into the Prius. She stopped only long enough to turn off her cell phone and to select a mix on her iPod that she knew would be appropriate given her current mindset. For once, the music didn't mock her, as it had so often done in the past week, particularly since the night of her encounter with Booth. Instead, it helped her to focus, helped her to concentrate, and helped her to decompress as she tried to get some type of equilibrium back to her mental and emotional state.

_You live you learn  
>You love you learn<br>You cry you learn  
>You lose you learn<br>You bleed you learn  
>You scream you learn<em>

Guiding her car towards the nearest stretch of highway that she knew would be relatively free of construction and traffic, and give her the ability to get her speed up as high as she knew she needed to be able to drive, Brennan soon found herself relaxing as she reached the interstate and could, finally, just drive.

Her thoughts continued to swirl about her, and she was at a loss of what to do with most of them. _God, what's he done to me? It's only been a week, and look what he's done to me. This is so not fair. Not fair at all, Booth. How did this happen? This is complete and utter madness—_

She shook her head in silent frustration and gripped the steering wheel tightly.

_Wear it out (the way a three-year-old would do)  
>Melt it down (you're gonna have to eventually anyway)<br>The fire trucks are coming up around the bend_

"This is not fair," Brennan muttered to herself. "I can't—I can't tolerate this…well, whatever the fuck _this _is. It's simply too much. I don't like what it's doing to me. I don't like what he's doing to me because I just can't deal with this_—_with all this. I just don't know how. I can't—and I won't."

Her thoughts drifted back to the maelstrom of emotion that had swept over her in the past few hours, in the past day, in the past week, and the more she thought about it, the more Brennan steeled her resolve. _I'm not doing this. I'm just not. Look at what it's done to me. Booth tells me to shut off my goddamn brain, and I still haven't figured out how to turn it back on. I never should have even asked him that damn question in the SUV. If I'd just kept my mouth shut, I never would have had to hear about him, and Rebecca, and whatever it is that he can do with his tongue that can make her scream—_

"Fuck!" Brennan yelled, smacking the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Shaking her head, Brennan muttered to herself, "You've got to stop this, Brennan. You're never going to be able to do what you need to do to effectively do your job if you can't even stop yourself from having a simple emotional response at the mere thought of Booth and one of his blonde sluts—"

The words were out of Brennan's mouth before she realized she had even said it. Her mouth stayed frozen in a small o-shape for a few seconds, as her rational brain process the meaning of her instinctual verbal response. Eventually, she started to shake her head as she comprehended the significance of her actions. Pursing her lips, she shook her head again. "No, no, no!"

_Doctor, doctor won't you please prescribe something  
>A day in the life of someone else?<br>Cuz I'm a hazard to myself_

"This isn't happening," Brennan said, punctuating her pronouncement with a sharp pounding of her fist on the steering wheel. "I'm not doing this. I'm just not— this is it. I can't and won't tolerate someone else having so much influence over me. I can't— I can't let this thing continue if it's something where— it's not going to change me. _ He's_ not going to change me. I just can't—he's just not—"

As Brennan revved the Prius' engine again, she sighed as she tried to make sense of the emotional free fall that she seemed to have fallen into. _Why? Why is this happening? It was just sex_. _It was just Booth_. _It didn't mean anything. It was fun. It was good—hell, it was great. But, that's all it was. Just sex. Just fun. Just sex. Nothing more._

_Don't let me get me  
>I'm my own worst enemy<br>Its bad when you annoy yourself  
>So irritating<br>Don't wanna be my friend no more  
>I wanna be somebody else<em>

Suddenly, a voice that sounded very much like Booth's voice rang in her head. _You keep telling yourself that, Bones, if it makes it easier to sleep at night_.

Brennan suddenly yelled, her scream of frustration reverberating in the car's passenger compartment.

"Stop telling me what to do!"

Her fingers gripped the steering wheel as she recalled the earlier morning dream Booth seeming to even dominate her inner monologue. Thoughts of Booth seemed to be permeating every single aspect of Brennan's existence—physically, mentally, emotionally…there wasn't any part of her that he hadn't touched, and it was scaring her—badly. Even the sacred domain of her brain was no longer her own, and Brennan felt her anger swell as she realized that she didn't have anything left that was just hers. The realization as to why she had felt her anger spike suddenly soothed Brennan. The epiphany seemed to kick off a bout of logical analysis that she clung to like some type of life preserver. Finally, Brennan knew she was going to have to try to work through the issues that'd she'd grudgingly admitted that the Booth in her dreams had been right about:she'd been in denial. Reluctantly, Brennan confessed to herself that she had spent a week trying to avoid with everything that'd had happened between her and Booth. Foolishly, she'd hoped that the issues, and the emotions they evoked in her, would somehow rectify themselves without the need for her direct intervention. _Stupid, Brennan_, the thought echoed in her mind. _Stupid and foolish. Enough of that. It's time to do what needs to be done. So, to begin—_

Shaking her head, Brennan began to talk slowly and calmly, "My oversensitivity to emotion has resulted in me being unable to compartmentalize and logically process information to form a suitable response to situations either about Booth or any that directly involve him. Ergo, to regain my equilibrium, I need to confront the root of my confusion and that which has resulted in my unpredictable behavior." Working through the problem logically, started to make Brennan feel a bit better. "I can do this," she told herself. "I just needed a chance to gather my thoughts and formulate a plan of action."

_Do you really have everything you want?  
>You can't ever give somethin' you ain't got<br>You can't run away from yourself_

As Brennan checked her rear view mirror, she started to dissect the issue in her head.

_Problem #1: I'm having extremely unpredictable emotional responses. These responses began the night of my confrontation with Booth. Ergo, at some point between our verbal confrontation at Gleam, the culmination of that verbal sparring resulting in my retrieval of my cell phone, and our subsequent sexual encounter, something has changed so that I am not responding to external stimuli in a logical and rational way. I believe this may stem from the fact that Booth ordered me to "turn off my brain," and distracted by my inability to regain a physical equilibrium because of that action, I've been off kilter ever since._

"Okay, so now that I've identified the first issue, how do I fix it?" Brennan mused out loud. "How, to use Booth's terminology, do I turn my brain back on? Why have I been stuck in this mindset of continually verbally baiting Booth or choosing to react to his verbal taunts over the past week?" Brennan paused, and then tilted her head as she considered a thought that had just popped into her head. _It's not possible that I keep initiating verbal sparring sessions in the hopes that another one will result in a new sexual encounter with Booth, is it? After all, there's a precedent there. _She stopped and thought about how part of her had been pushing him at the crime scene. _Booth starts arguing with women and fantastic sex ensues. It happened with Rebecca, it happened with me once before—is that what I was doing at Greenbelt? Is this phenomena something I've picked up on subconsciously and been trying to garner as a response from him ever since? Is that why I let things get out of control as fast and as much as I did when Agent Walters was all but spreading her legs and giving Booth the 'welcome, all aboard' sign of greeting?_

Brennan stopped, and then another part of her mental processes chimed in...the one that spoke in a voice sounded annoyingly like Booth. _Maybe, Bones. Or, maybe you were just jealous._

Quickly, shaking her head, Brennan dismissed the idea. _No. If I wanted to have another sexual encounter with Booth, I wouldn't need to recreate the circumstances of our first coupling. And, I'm not jealous of any little stupid twenty-eight year-old surgically-enhanced FBI agent. If I had to chose between being me and being her—not even having enough mental capacity to tell the difference between an animal bone and a human bone—I'd don't think I could live with myself if I was Scarlett Walters. Besides, I think I'd have to commit ritualized suicide with a name like that. I know I should probably feel compassion with someone who has such a horrible name, and if she weren't such a bitch, I might. Hell, I wonder if her first name is that bad, how bad her middle name is—what could it be I wonder? Cerulean? Sepia? Fuchsia? Ochre? Magenta? Cyan? The possibilities are endless, really. _

As her thoughts trailed off, and she snickered at her own cleverness, that voice in her head that sounded like Booth chimed in as it said, _You're evading, Bones. Come on, now. Focus._

Sighing, Brennan flexed her fingers as she gripped the steering wheel. She then thought, _Fine. I might've have been slightly jealous, particularly when Agent Walters questioned my skills. Her veiled insults were merely inflamed by her blatant propositioning of Booth. But, I have no doubt that if I really wanted to, if I really wanted to have sex with Booth again, there's no reason why I wouldn't simply proposition Booth, logically, rationally. There's no reason for me to be melodramatic about it. I don't have to fight with Booth if I want to fuck him, so—_

A mental cough echoed in her head. _You so sure about that, Bones?_

"That can't be it," Brennan finished out loud, ignoring the question that seemed to be hinting at something that her conflicted conscience wanted to tell her. "Either be direct and tell me what I need to know or shut up," Brennan muttered at herself. "Now—"

_Considerations to Arriving at a Suitable Solution to Problem #1 - A.) Booth. Through his imperious proclamations, I've allowed myself to be manipulated to go against a logical and rational course of action. I've allowed myself to respond emotionally to my perceived slights that I think his manipulation of me has wrought instead of either having a discussion with him to get Booth cease and desist in his efforts, or, more appropriately, stop myself from indulging in the irrational responses to his manipulative acts that have been dominating my actions all week. B.) Repression of my sexual needs. If I've been in a state of constant physical arousal for a week, it makes no logical sense not to engage in a simple physical act of self-gratification to release that tension and obtain relief. My confused reaction to Booth's manipulations has clouded my ability to see this choice as the rational one to make._

"There's no reason why I should feel uncomfortable about getting myself off," Brennan nodded. _Unless I'm afraid that I won't be able to satisfy myself without thinking about how Booth touched me, how Booth made me feel—_the voice of doubt crept into her analysis again. Stopping herself, Brennan shook her head. "No, no, no." She paused and said, "Allowing such divergent thoughts to impede the analytical process is not constructive. It's a waste of time and energy to allow myself to indulge in such distractions. Enough." She stopped, took a few deep breaths and then continued on confidently in her analysis. "So, as I was saying, the answers to both issues are quite simple—"

_Solution to Problem #1 - A.) Confront Booth over his manipulation of me. B.) Achieve sexual release as soon as possible._

_Could you look me in the eye?  
>and tell me that you're happy now, yeah, yeah<br>come on, tell it to my face or have i been replaced,  
>Are you happy now?<br>Ohhh, ohhhh  
>Are you happy now?<em>

Continuing her deconstruction of the events, Brennan started to feel a happy calm fall over her as she realized she was forming a logical plan of action. No longer feeling as if she were spiraling out of control, but reclaiming and grounding herself in the face of the maelstrom of emotion that had threatened to drown her the past week, Brennan proceeded in her analysis of her recent emotional turmoil and the events that had come about because of those feelings.

_Problem #2 - I'm not acting as professionally, or doing my job as thoroughly, as I need to, because I'm reacting too personally and too...reactively to Booth. _She stopped and again reflected with a flush of embarrassment coloring her cheeks as she recalled how inappropriate her behavior had been at Greenbelt Park. _I can't believe I acted that way at the crime scene. I allowed my personal feelings to impede a proper and thorough evaluation of the remains. Further, I've no doubt greatly reduced my standing—which was already tenuous at best—in the eyes of Booth's field detail, Agent Walters excepted—because I really, really don't like that woman. But, I digress...How can I expect to work with those people if they think that I don't even trust Booth enough, as my partner, to wait until we were able discuss my issues with his treatment of Agent Walters in private_?_ In behaving this way, I've reduced myself to an immature high school drama queen when I wasn't even like that when I was actually in high school. I'm sure Angela would say the only thing that was missing in my confrontation with Agent Walters was the jello. _

_Furthermore, it's not just an issue of me feeling hostility towards Agent Walters—although she did make a novice mistake that wasted time and resources in the course of the investigation. No, it's not just her. I'm feeling an aggressive response any time he mentions any female with whom he has partnered in an intimate act in his past. I seem to have an especially strong response when said partners are blonde, as evidenced by the exchange with that new bothersome FBI agent that's joined Booth's team. While I maintain the ludicrousness of having a female offspring and naming her after a color—Scarlet?—it's Booth's_ _job to control his personnel at crime scenes so that evidence isn't compromised. Despite the fact that she was exceedingly young and blonde, and seemed to be acting in a less intelligent manner than is actually indicative of her actual IQ—most likely to play up her neediness in front of Booth—none of that should concern me because what Booth does in his personal time is none of my concern._

"What Booth does when he's pursuing leisure activities is really none of my concern," Brennan repeated.

_Unless you're jealous, Bones._

"Of course, I _do_ enjoy it when we spend our free time together, especially when indulging in certain extracurricular activities, but there is no reason why I should be troubled when I'm not with him."

_Unless you're jealous, Bones._

"I do what I do, he does what he does, and that's very satisfactory."

_Unless you're jealous, Bones._

"Why should I be jealous?" Brennan finally snapped. "Now—"

_Considerations to Arriving at a Suitable Solution to Problem #2 - A lack of proper reflective time to logically dissect and process information. While I'm currently rectifying this issue by my participation in this current exercise, it's still important to know why this has occurred. Simply put, given how emotional I've been, I've been afraid to allow myself enough time to think about the situation that has caused my emotional unbalance. This is illogical. I haven't—and should never have been afraid—to think about something. In fact, by not confronting the situation and processing it analytically, I have actually allowed emotions to dominate my interpretation of the situation and given them more power and control over me than I ever should've done in the first place. A logical review of the evidence shows that I have nothing to be afraid about regarding my encounter with Booth or any of th_e_ subsequent emotions I've experienced because of it. Understanding it and placing it in its proper context is the logical and rational thing to do._

"See?" she said to herself. "This isn't a big deal at all, Brennan, you've just been silly. Too silly. There is no issue, no problem, given the right amount of time, that can't be solved by careful thought and reflection."

_Unless you're jealous, Bones._

"And, so—"

_Solution to Problem #2 - Mentally confront and assess the situation of my sexual encounter with Booth. Done. That having been completed—_

_Conclusions Reached after Solution to Problem #2 Enacted: It is illogical to deny or repress the significance of my sexual encounter with Booth. Logically, this begins by verbalizing the situation._

"I had sex with my partner," Brennan admitted slowly. "There's nothing to be afraid in making that admission. Indeed, my acknowledgement of that admission is crucial towards getting my responses to Booth under control. I had sex with my partner. I had sex with…Booth." She stopped, again tightening her grip on the steering wheel, which her fingers were clutching so tightly that they were turning white. When she noticed, Brennan forced herself to ease her grip. Slowly, she took a breath nodded again. "There, I said it. I had sex with Booth, and it was a fun, enjoyable, pleasurable experience." She stopped, letting out another deep breath. She then added with a wry smile, "And, in the interests of complete honesty, given the opportunity, I would like to have sex with him again." Brennan paused. "Okay, there, I said it. I want to have sex with Booth again—provided that Booth understands that my desire to spend personal time in recreational acts with him in no way signifies my submission to him in any way, shape, or form. We're partners—"

_We're partners_, Brennan thought. _We're partners. We're equals. Above all else, that aspect of our interaction must be preserved and maintained. Should I engage in another sexual encounter with Booth, it may serve two functions. First, it will alleviate any additional physical stress I feel—in reference to problem #1's solution. Second, it will allow me to cease reacting to Booth an overtly personal way and thus allow me to gain enough distance and perspective to do my job to the high standards of practice that I've become accustomed to doing it over the years. Both are desirable outcomes._

"Just like Booth," Brennan said with another smile cracking the seriousness of her face. "He can be quite desirable, and there's nothing wrong with me admitting that. Logically, nothing's wrong with me admitting it. I'm no different making that admission than if I were to deny it. Nothing's changed. Nothing's different. Everything's just as it's always been."

_Would you look me in the eye?_  
><em>Could you look me in the eye?<em>  
><em>I've had all that I can take<em>  
><em>I'm not about to break<em>  
><em>Cause I'm happy now, ohhh, ohhh<em>  
><em>Are you happy now?<em>

"On that note," Brennan said, "there's only one thing left to consider."

_Problem #3 - The current state of my partnership with Booth. Over the past week, his behavior has been such that he does not seem to remember the definition of the word 'partner'. I believe this stems from issues on his part that are notions whereby his typical alpha-male tendencies equate sexual coupling with ownership of me. Booth's acts to control me are inappropriate and cannot be tolerated. However, I must admit I find this somewhat confusing, as his lack of any disquieting response to our sexual encounter would seem to contradict this assessment. I'm uncertain how he can feel a need to control me if what we did was pleasurable by easily dismissible, since such attempts to claim ownership would be indicative of some type of bond with me._

"Hmmm...curious. Quite curious. But, in the end, perhaps it's not as big a deal as it seems. Perhaps once I tell Booth he needs to back off a bit about trying to control me, it probably won't even be an issue," Brennan told herself. "Really, it shouldn't be, because, well—I'm probably making this more complicated than it needs to be. Booth's just being Booth. I'm his partner, and that's why he's been demonstrating certain proprietary interests in me. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that we had sex."

_Considerations to Arriving at a Suitable Solution to Problem #3 - Booth. While my recent emotional responses to a myriad of situations is an aberration from my the practicality of my normal logical and rational responses, his emotional responses are part of his intuitive nature. It will be difficult to confront him on this change in his behavior, and explain that he must modify it accordingly. At the very least, he may react combatively and aggressively when I point out the inappropriate and unfair aspects of his most recent actions towards me. I must be prepared to react in a calm and logical way to explain to him why his instinctual reaction is incorrect, and I'll need to be patient while he realizes the correct assessment I've made._

"I can do that," Brennan said. "That's simple. First, I'll apologize for my inappropriate behavior at the crime scene. He was right. I was not acting in a way that befits my status or talents. I overstepped, and I'll tell him I'm sorry. Then we'll talk. I'll tell him everything that I've just figured out, and I know I can definitely be persuasive and patient while Booth comes to realize the validity of my points."

_When I saw my best friend yesterday,  
>She said she never liked you from the start,<br>Well me, I wish that I could claim the same,  
>But, you always knew you held my heart.<br>And, you're such a charming, handsome man,  
>Now I think I finally understand,<br>Is it in your genes, I don't know,  
>But I'll soon find out, that's for sure,<br>Why did you play me this way?_

"So, the solution to all of this is pretty simple," Brennan said. "All I need to do to solve Problem #3 is arrange an opportunity to communicate with him in a constructive manner with Booth. I just need to maintain a calm and balanced mindset while discussing the aforementioned issues regarding his behavior. Simple. Easy. That's all there is to it, really."

Nodding to herself, Brennan felt a lot better than she had before she had begun her impromptu drive to calm down and gather her thoughts. As she continued to think about her recent conclusions and decisions, Brennan's stomach started to growl. Frowning at the noise, as Brennan glanced at the clock, and realized she had been driving for almost an hour, she shook her head as she now knew _why _her stomach was making noises as if it hadn't been fed in hours. It was making noises, in fact, because Brennan hadn't eaten all day. But for the coffee Booth had brought her that morning, and a protein bar she had as she rode with Hastert back into downtown, Brennan hadn't had a decent meal all day. It was now well past three o'clock, and Brennan surmised that if she hadn't eaten, Booth probably hadn't, either.

Her frown deepening at the thought, Brennan felt a pang of concern over her partner's well being. _I doubt he's eaten, and he's never in a good mood when he's hungry. He probably won't even listen to me if he's pissy because he hasn't eaten. So, what can I do to tempt him?_

An image of Brennan tempting him as she pressed her naked body up against his before they clashed in a searing kiss ran through her mind. _Later_, she said, pushing it away. _Maybe later, if this all goes well, and I stick to the plan. But, for now, I need to get something to eat and choose a place where I can also get something that I know Booth will like. So, maybe— th_e_ diner, of course. Yeah, I'll swing by the diner and grab a salad for me and something for Booth and take it back to the lab. Maybe if I can procure some type of confection—something made from a lot of sugar— it will make it easier to tempt him into taking a brief respite. Then, once we're both in private, we'll be able to consume our food and freely discuss my recent realizations and proposed course of action. _

Deciding she would make the slight detour en route back to the lab, Brennan immediately felt better about things than she had in several days—and most definitely than she had since her disastrous morning began. Putting on her turn signal, Brennan maneuvered the car off the next exit, and turned around. As she headed back into D.C., Brennan told herself, "While a useful exercise, I've indulged myself for long enough. I've got a plan of action, and now it's time to execute. End of story. Case closed."

Nodding again, perhaps as if to reassure herself, Brennan pretended not to hear a small part of her brain—the part that had annoyingly started speaking to her in Booth's voice—mutter again, _You're still ignoring the whole jealously thing there, huh? But, I suppose, if you think it works, you keep telling yourself that, Bones. Just keep telling yourself that._

_Well, I guess what you say is true,  
>I could never be the right kind of girl for you,<br>I could never be your woman.  
>I could never be your woman,<br>I could never be your woman,  
>I could never be your woman.<em>

* * *

><p>Booth walked into the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal Lab and approached the forensics platform, swiped his card and bounded up the steps with a determined stride. His eyes scanned the platform, which now held the most recent set of remains recovered from Greenbelt Park. Cam and Zach stood on opposite sides of the examination table, but Brennan was nowhere to be seen. Looking up at the newcomer, Cam merely glanced at Booth, gave him a slight nod, and then returned to the details she was examining near the victim's spleen.<p>

Booth, noticing Cam's subdued response, waited for her to look up again. When she did, this time, Booth met her eyes with a nod. "Camille?"

"Yes, Seeley?"

"I don't suppose you squints have anything for me yet, right?" he asked.

Booth surveyed the remains on the table and noted with a quiet sigh that, in fact, the remains were not substantially different than they had appeared at the crime scene: most of the left half of the body, the portion that had been buried in the creek bed, was still caked with a quarter- to a half-inch of humus material. After Brennan's sudden departure from the crime scene, he'd watched Cam and Hodgins spend the rest of the morning struggling to free the body before finally giving up and more or less cutting the remains out of the hard-packed mud so that the remains could be transported back to and cleaned at the lab. Booth smiled vaguely as he thought how, while the crime scene itself was pretty messy, this body—at least, so far, as dead bodies went, it seemed fairly un-messy. It didn't really smell that bad, it didn't seem to be particularly gooey, slimy or otherwise icky, and there wasn't a tremendous amount of creepy crawly bug crap that made Hodgins' euphoric. There was some, yes, but a smaller amount that was doable without Booth wanting to toss his cookies. However, as he glanced at the body, he realized with a sigh, that it wasn't like he had any cookie in his stomach to toss, since the glazed donuts he'd eaten that morning were many hours in the past, and he didn't know when he'd have a chance to grab something.

_Maybe I can run up to the lounge to grab something from the vending machines_, Booth wondered, as he looked curiously at the remains.

The skeletonized part was pretty clean, and the other half_—_at least the parts that had the muck picked off of it—was pretty much mummified, much like Hodgins had described the Danish bog body. _Errr, not muck, _Booth thought, remembering Hodgins' diatribe about the term. _Humus, right? Gotta remember that so I get it right when I tell Parks. Humus. _Booth silently wondered how he could arrange to have more of the bodies be this un-gross. _ The one that we found dissolving in the bathtub full of lye was pretty damn nasty,_ he remembered. _That might just be the worst. _ _Then, again, Maggie Schilling's body_—_left to rot in an old refrigerator for a year_—_was pretty heinous, too. Poor girl._

Shaking her head, Cam said, "Nope. Sorry. It takes longer than the five minutes we've had the remains on the slab to be able to get anything of substance, Booth." She paused and then leveled her gaze at him. "Of course, you know that already," she said in a low voice, "So, are you ready to tell me the real reason you're here or what?"

"Just checking on the case, Camille, just checking on the case," he said, as he hit the fist of one hand into the palm of the other and then snapped his fingers before he stole another glance around the platform.

Cam noticed the action and said, "Right." She stopped and then tilted her head at Booth as she asked, "Should I take your rather subdued manner to mean that that you're calmed down now, Seeley, and I'm not going to have to send you to time-out again?" Cam didn't bother to wait for an answer as she pulled a magnifying lens that was positioned over the victim's abdominal cavity a bit closer to her.

Shaking his head, Booth muttered, "Ha, ha, ha—very funny, Camille."

Looking up at him, Cam said, "I'm dead serious, Seeley." She then took a step away from the examination table and walked over to Booth. Lowering her voice so that only he could hear her, Cam said, "Now, look. That little stunt that you and Brennan pulled at the crime scene—whatever it was, I think we both don't need me to spell it out for you, but just to be on the safe side, you need to know that I'm not going to put up with that type of stuff here."

Booth sighed. "Look, Cam—"

Waving her hand, Cam said dismissively, "What you and Dr. Brennan want to do on your own time—be it screaming at each other at the top of your lungs just for fun or because it's some kind of weird kind of foreplay that you two are into, fine." She watched for his reaction, but he merely blinked in an outward response to her blatant innuendo—but, his inner response was another matter entirely.

_No, Camille, _Booth thought. _I can definitely come up with several better ideas of awesome foreplay than a screaming match with Bones, thank you very much. _He thought back to the delicious way he'd explored Brennan's body a week earlier, as she lay sprawled out and naked in his bed, ready, waiting, and anxious for his touch as they'd teased each other into a sexual frenzy. _On the other hand, _he reminded himself, _that whole verbal duel thing we did at the nightclub, while wildly inappropriate and definitely high up on the list of things I'll never do again, was pretty damn erotic—and, not that I didn't think that before, but she's so hot when she's like that_—_I mean, how can anyone not get hard when she's staring at you like that, nostrils flaring, tits heaving? S__hit,_ _ by the time Cam ambushed us at Greenbelt, I was so effin' horned u,p I was about ready to drag Bones back to the Tahoe, tear that goddamn jumpsuit off her body, throw her up against the truck, and fuck her damn brains out against the driver's side door. _He looked away, his eyes resting on some indistinct spot over Cam's shoulder as he stared into space and briefly savored the image in his mind. _But_, _if we're talking just straight foreplay here, I'd definitely have to stick with playing with those amazing, juicy tits of hers—goddamn, she's got the best pair I've ever seen. I mean, the way her nipples felt under my tongue was just so, wow—and then going down on her is so fucking great because I've never tasted anything as wonderful in my life, never mind the way it felt when she came in my mouth_—

_Except that this entire train of thought is really not helping. Not at all._

_For fuck's sake Booth_, he thought trying to push away the stirring in his groin. _Get a goddamn grip! Professional remember? What happened to keeping it strictly professional when you're on the clock, huh?_

"So, whatever floats to your boat or whatever you two get off on, like I said, fine. But, keep it out of my lab, Seeley."

Booth frowned at her, and, deciding that ignoring her comment was the best defense—the best course of action for avoiding keeping sucked into another very bizarre conversation with Cam about a topic he really didn't want to think about before he saw Brennan—he said, "Speaking of, where is she?"

"Who?" Cam said, thinking that Booth was again evading the issue she had broached with him. It took her a minute to realize that he was serious by the tone of his answer.

Sighing an exasperated sigh, Booth said, "Bones?"

Standing a bit straighter, she said, "I don't know, Booth."

"What do you mean you don't know where she is, Camille?" Booth asked, his forehead wrinkled in annoyance. "This place isn't _that _big, and so there aren't that many places she could be hiding. So spill. Where is she?"

"I'm serious, Seeley," Cam told him. "As far as I know, Dr. Brennan isn't here."

"Of course, she's here," he said, shaking his head. "You must've just missed her."

"I'd know if she were here," Cam replied tartly. "As we both know, she has a tendency to react… _strongly _if I don't inform her promptly when remains arrive for examination. I tried to look for her twenty minutes ago, and I couldn't find her, so wherever Dr. Brennan is right now, I know it's not here."

Shaking his head again, Booth said, "That makes absolutely no sense, Camille. I had Vince Hastert drive her back from the crime scene almost four hours ago." He stopped and looked at Zach as he said, "Is she hiding down in Limbo?"

Zach shook his head and replied in the monotonous, Vulcan-like tone of his that always gave Booth the creeps. "No."

"Well, then where is she?" Booth pressed him. "Her office?"

Again, Zach shook his head. "No." He blinked at Booth, refusing to be cowed by the FBI agent in much the same way as his mentor. Booth narrowed his eyes, but remained quiet as he let the squint speak. "To my knowledge, I find I must concur with Dr. Saroyan's initial assessment. Dr. Brennan's not here."

"'Not here' as in 'not here' where? The lab? The Jeffersonian? _Or what_?" Booth asked, his growing annoyance clearly evident in his voice.

"Yes, yes, and I don't know how to answer your final question," Zach replied bluntly.

Sighing again, Booth shot Zach a dirty look—which Brennan's junior squint promptly ignored—before he reached into the pocket of his jeans. Grabbing his cell phone, Booth reluctantly pursed his lips as he spun around and faced away from the examination table and dialed Brennan's number. He immediately felt his annoyance flare into a sharp stab of intense irritation when his call didn't even register a single ring, but went straight to her voicemail. _What the hell, Bones? Where in the hell are you? _Booth wondered.

"She's not picking up her cell phone," Booth said, after he had tried a second time to get Brennan to answer her cell phone and had failed.

Sighing again, Booth immediately began to scroll through his contacts to get Hastert's number. _Jesus, Bones. Ya know, I really don't have time for this_. _Where in the hell did you go?_

"Maybe she had a detour to make that delayed her return to the lab," Zach offered, as he watched indicators in Booth's body language signifying that the FBI agent was growing steadily more and more agitated.

"No," Booth said immediately. "She's supposed to be _here_, at the lab, and she's supposed to have been here for almost four hours." He hooked his thumb in his jeans pocket and drummed his fingers on his Cocky belt buckle, sucking in a deep breath and exhaling in a tense huff through his nostrils. He cocked his head and glanced over to Brennan's office, rolling his jaw from side to side as he rubbed his eyes in frustration.

Cam watched Booth's mood shift, his annoyance clearly growing as he determined that Brennan's actions had apparently upset his plan. She also noticed that hidden just beneath the annoyance and frustration was something _else_. Although it was hidden, Cam could definitely sense just a subtle amount of another emotion in Booth's response to the fact that Brennan wasn't at the Jeffersonian as he had anticipated. She also doubted that anyone else but her would have been able to pick up on it from observing Booth's body language. However, because of it, she decided a bit of reassurance wasn't necessarily a bad thing, lest Booth start jumping to worst-case scenario conclusions as he was prone to do when it came to his partner—especially after she and Hodgins were abducted and nearly killed by the Gravedigger only a year earlier. "I'm sure she's fine, Seeley."

"Yeah, I'm sure she is, too, Camille," Booth snapped, as he dialed Hastert's number. He looked up at her, and Cam saw the emotion flash again behind his expressive brown eyes. Quickly pushing it away, Booth replied with an abruptness that would have made Brennan proud. "But, until I know that this is just another case of Bones being the classical pain in my ass that she's been lately, let's not make any assumptions, huh?"

Cam frowned at him, but said nothing as she returned to examining the victim's remains. She occasionally glanced up as Booth walked away from the examination table and down the stairs, taking his place several feet from the base of the platform, and Cam heard his lowered voice as he made his calls from a safe, more private distance.

A few minutes later, after Booth had talked to Hastert and been told of the detour that resulted in Brennan never returning to the lab, he pocketed his cell phone and sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. Looking up at Cam and Zach, Booth said, "Hastert said he dropped her off at her apartment to pick up her car about three and a half hours ago. That's all he knows."

"Well, it is more than we knew before you called him," Zach noted in his logical tone that was just a bit more squinty than Booth had the patience to deal with on a good day—and this was definitely turning out _not _to be a good day, despite how promising the morning had started off before Brennan's bitchiness had rained all over his good mood. Silenced with a look, Zack didn't bother to finish his statement, and instead returned to examining the cranial sutures that suddenly seemed to demand his full attention.

Shaking his head, Booth said to no one in particular, "Where in the hell could she be?"

As if to irritate him more with her perfect timing, only forewarned by the swipe of an access card and heels clicking on the platform, Brennan suddenly appeared as if by magic and answered Booth's question with an even look in her eyes. "Where could who be, Booth?" Stunned, Booth blinked but said nothing as his partner approached the slab.

Booth couldn't help but stare at Brennan for several long moments after she appeared. _Oh, thank God_, Booth exhaled a breath of relief. His second thought was, _Jesus, what a pain in the ass you are, Bones_. She had obviously changed since he'd last seen her. Instead of wearing the Jeffersonian field jumpsuit, she was dressed in what Booth could only describe as casual for Brennan. She wore a cream-colored knit pull-over blouse that was fairly simple with its square neckline, although Booth did appreciate the touch of lace that adorned the neckline making it—and by default, Brennan—seem just a bit softer, just a bit more..._feminine. _The blouse was secured around her waist with a wide dark brown leather belt. Her dark blue denim skirt fell just above her knees, while the closed-toed dark brown heels she wore screamed practicality, but again, emphasized the shapeliness of her ankles and added a couple of inches to her height. Brennan's hair had already been pulled back into a careless ponytail. Her hairstyle, at least, brought some sense of normalcy to her appearance on the platform.

Walking up to him, she smiled and waited for his response. It took Booth a few seconds to again adjust to Brennan's unpredictable mood swings, and—if he were to be honest with himself—the fact that Brennan looked as she looked in that moment. _Wow_, he thought. _She, ah...dammit. She looks great. _Booth pursed his lips as another voice in his head spoke up at that particular moment. _Ahh, Brennan's Co-dependent Bitch, table for one. One sway of her ass in a skirt, and stick a fork in it_—_you're done, Booth. How's that for sticking to your guns? Pathetic. Absolutely friggin' pathetic._

"Booth?" Brennan asked.

"Uh, yeah, Bones?" Booth eventually managed, his voice a bit rough as he tried to decide if he was still angry at her—_yes!_—and if so, how much—_a bit, but not as much as before_.

Arching an eyebrow at him, Brennan asked, "Who were you looking for?"

A voice from behind them interrupted Booth, just as he opened his mouth to speak.

"Agent Booth was quite agitated and perturbed when he arrived at the lab and couldn't determine your whereabouts, Dr. Brennan," Zach offered. Pursing his lips, he added, "Although, it might be pertinent to also mention that since your arrival, the prior signs of physical distress that he displayed during your absence have lessened. Instead, his rate of respiration appears to have decreased, and—"

"_Oy!" _Booth suddenly said, spinning around and pointing at Zach. Transferring his anger from Brennan to her assistant seemed like a convenient, although temporary, solution to his current predicament. "Zip it, would ya, kid?"

Slightly offended at Booth's sharp and patronizing response, Zach looked to Brennan who merely nodded with a silent chuckle.

Taking a deep breath, and trying to bite back a smile despite the fact as to how amusing and endearing she found Zach's description of Booth's reaction to her absence, Brennan said, "I apologize if my delay in returning to the lab inconvenienced you, Booth." She paused and then nodded at Cam, "Or, anyone else, for that matter. It was not my intent to be gone for as long as I was."

"So, where have ya been, Bones?" Booth asked, suddenly having recovered his ability to speak in complete sentences.

Lifting a small brown paper bag that Booth didn't notice she had been caring until that very minute, Brennan said, "I was hungry, and so I made a run to grab some food from the diner." Extending the bag to him, she said, "I know I hadn't eaten all day, and I'm guessing you probably didn't either, so I took the liberty of getting you a piece of pie, Booth."

Hesitantly taking the bag from her, Booth eyed it warily, almost as if it were holding a bomb and not a dessert. "Pie?" Booth finally said. "Wow—uhhh, you brought me a piece of pie, Bones?"

Brennan nodded. "I know you prefer apple pie, but the only choices they had today were cherry and French Silk pie. As I was concerned about leaving the French Silk pie unrefrigerated as I travelled between the diner and the lab, despite the fact that I know you prefer chocolate above all else, I selected the slice of cherry pie as more appropriate under the logistical circumstances."

Still slightly shocked, Booth arched his eyebrow and nodded slowly. _Jesus, maybe she is developing split personalities. God, this is exhausting. Shit, who can keep up with her when she's like this? And, more importantly, what's next? _"Uh, thanks, Bones."

"You're welcome," Brennan said as she moved past him. Accepting a fresh pair of gloves that Zach held out for her, Brennan she snapped them on and called over her shoulder. "We're going to need a bit of time with the remains, Booth, to give you the information you need. Why don't you go to my office, have your pie, and I'll come and get you as soon as we know something?" She stopped and then added, "I have several cans of the soda you like in the small refrigerator behind my desk. They should be cold, so feel free to help yourself."

The look Booth knew had fallen over his face, despite the fact that he knew he had one of the best poker faces around, could only convey one thing—surprise—at Brennan's actions, although he knew he should know better by this point in their partnership…_relationship?_ For years now he knew that she could, and often would, surprise him. It was just that the surprises had become more frequent and, in no small measure, less pleasant, in the week since the night they'd spent together. _Since when does Bones stock her mini-fridge with cans of Coke for me_? Booth wondered, dumbfounded by this partner's behavior.

Glancing down at the brown paper bag, Booth's stomach suddenly rumbled, and he knew Brennan's assessment of his not stopping to eat during the course of the day had been correct. He'd just been too busy to eat. Deciding to not look a gift horse—or a forensic anthropologist bearing gifts—in the mouth, Booth nodded, and even though Brennan was already deep in conversation with Cam and Zach, he called to her. "I, uh, guess I'm just going to go take my pie back to your office and eat it there, Bones."

Looking up at him, Brennan quickly nodded, interrupted what she was saying to Zach. "An excellent plan of action, Booth," she said with a sudden smile. "Don't worry. I'll come get you when we're done here—or, if we find anything significant. I promise."

Booth watched Brennan smile at him again, and, again, he felt as if it were a very surreal experience. Nodding once in agreement, he turned to retreat from the platform to her office, and he wondered if she even knew he had left as she seemed already lost in discussion of Zach's cursory examination of the body.

Shaking his head, Booth muttered, half in annoyance and half in admiration, "Squints."

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><p><strong>-TBC-<strong>

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><p><strong>AN2: <strong>Okay, so there you have it. Brennan knows she's going nuts and is trying to do something about it. But, the first thing she does after coming to her self-cathartic revelation is that she brings Booth pie_—_cherry pie, mind you. Do you wonder how that's going to go over when the lab's resident Wife of Bath hears about it? Then, drop us a line, and let us know, because a special appearance by Angela is up next.

We (**dharmamonkey** and I) always wait on pins and needles when a chapter hits, because we want to know what you guys think. So, be kind and have mercy—put us out of our misery by clicking that little link below marked 'Review'.

And, keep your TV tuned to this same station because we're now only officially just past the half-way point in this story. There's lots more to come—if want to see it more quickly, you know what to do.~


	2. Ch 12: Looks of Wonder and Remembrance

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By**: dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated**: M

**Disclaimer**: We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.

**A/N**: "Cognitive Dissonance" is the sequel to "Costly Signals" (CS for short). We strongly urge you to read CS because the events of "Cognitive Dissonance" pick up immediately after the end of CS . If you have not read CS this story will be, at best, extremely confusing, and will in all likelihood, probably not make any sense at all. "Costly Signals: Part One" may be viewed under dharmamonkey's fan fic dot com profile, while "Costly Signals: Part Two" may be viewed under Lesera128's fan fic dot com profile. This story is set towards the end of Season 3, a week or so before the events of "Wannabe in the Weeds." Like CS, this work is the product of a collaboration between dharmamonkey and Lesera128. And—just in case you missed the hint in the summary—like its predecessor, this work will definitely live up to its M-rating. What follows contains some, err...colorful language, adult situations, and some very, very unf encounters. If that's not your kind of thing, no problem. Click the back button, and happy fic hunting. For the rest of you, fasten your seatbelts, because we promise a hell of a ride.

Constructive criticism is both welcome and encouraged, but uselessly mean comments that complain, or have nothing to contribute are ignored...so, please don't flame.

Many thanks to everyone who's let us know what they think of the story so far. We very much appreciate it. And, now, for our next trick...

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><p><strong>Chapter 12 - Looks of Wonder and Remembrance<strong>

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><p>After Brennan had playfully shooed Booth away to her office so he could eat his slice of cherry pie and she could work, the solace she found in working with the remains quickly washed over her. She began to lose track of time as she worked with Zach to continue their preliminary investigation of the bones, trying to tease out what secrets they could from the osteological patterns and other evidence hidden in the young woman's skeleton. Although she had no idea how much time had passed, a short time later, Brennan found herself interrupted once more. However, somewhat unexpectedly, she was not interrupted by Booth as she had originally anticipated. Instead, this time, a female's voice called out her name and diverted Brennan's attention from her analysis of the de-fleshed portions of the body.<p>

"Hey, Bren?" Angela asked, feeling Hodgins' eyes drilling into the back of her head from where he sat at a desk a few feet away, watching her call out to her friend.

Although she knew she was being watched, Angela ignored the impulse to turn around, stalk over to where Hodgins sat, and smack her fiancé sharply in back of the head for convincing her to do this. She had watched Brennan work for several minutes before Hodgins convinced her to interrupt the forensic anthropologist. Angela was loathe to interrupt Brennan's work with a fresh set of remains even on a good day. Her hesitation increased as she couldn't really tell that anything was off as she had watched her best friend work. To Angela, Brennan appeared as she always did—giddy as she was confronted with the challenge represented by a new set of remains, determined to meet that challenge, and dedicated to compelling the bones to reveal their secrets to her where others failed. In a word, Brennan seemed _normal_. Looking at Brennan, Angela chewed her lip as she equivocated. _See, I know he thinks he was right, but Bren looks fine_, Angela thought. _She's fine, and if she is, then there's really no point to pulling her away from a set of remains if she's fine. Damn it. She hates it when I do that unless it's really important, and the vibe I'm getting is that this is fine and so this isn't __that__ important and can wait until later, right? _Angela mentally sighed. _Bren seems fine, despite what Jack says happened earlier_—_so, yeah, I'm thinking this probably isn't the best idea that Jack's had lately..._

Angela had always prided herself on being the type of woman who knew what to do and when to do it, always with impeccable timing. But, as her friend looked up to meet her gaze, she again found herself second-guessing her timing. _True_—_I have been meaning to pull Bren aside for some quality girl chat, but since we've all been slammed this past week with the work schedule being what it has been, it's not like anybody's had a lot of free time. But, even still, if Jack's wrong, and nothing's off with Bren, and he was just exaggerating again because he's taking that Gossip Gertie thing that he's got going on when he shoots the shit with Zach just a bit too far, then maybe we've got other problems. _ Angela stopped, and then a small voice chimed in, playing devil's advocate. _Then again, after Jack said happened at the crime scene, even if he did exaggerate it, and even if his little tale just based on some small shred of truth, then someone needs to step in and try to see what's really going on between Beatrice and Benedick—and I guess that someone's gonna have to be me._

Knowing what she had to do, Angela took another step towards the examination table that Brennan stood hunched over. Brennan looked at her friend with a questioning gaze clear in her face as she looked up from where she was examining an ulna bone. As Brennan waited for her friend to explain why she had interrupted her, Angela knew that she had passed the point of no return. Thus, fully committing herself, she walked up to her best friend, stood patiently beside Brennan with her hands stuffed into the pockets of her lab coat, and took a deep breath before she began to speak.

"So, Bren, hey—" she began.

As Angela had anticipated, a few moments passed before Brennan looked up and said, "Hi, Ange."

"Hey," Angela repeated, greeting her with a warm smile. Inclining her head at Brennan, Angela asked, "I know you're busy and all with the remains, but can I talk to you for a minute, please?"

Carefully setting the ulna down on the table, Brennan nodded. "Of course." She paused again and waited for Angela to start talking.

Angela, for her part, had opened her mouth to speak. She stopped mid-word when she looked over and saw Zach was staring at them intently. "Ummm, maybe we could go to my office?" Angela suggested as she nodded to Brennan, instead of asking the original question with which she had intended to start the conversation. "I need to talk to you about something in _private_." As she said the last word, she placed a significant amount of meaning on her inflection. Zach noticed when she glanced at him as she spoke and, taking the hint, frowned in response.

For her part, Brennan arched an eyebrow at Angela's words. However, knowing her friend wouldn't interrupt her during the preliminary investigation of a new set of remains unless it was serious, she nodded. "Alright."

Angela shot Zach a look of triumph, to which the young squint merely shrugged. He turned his full attention back to the bone he had been analyzing without a second thought. In the meantime, Angela turned and followed her best friend off of the platform since Brennan had begun walking towards Angela's office as soon as she had decided to comply with her friend's request.

When the pair finally reached the safe confines of the artist's office and the door was securely locked behind them, Angela turned to her friend and said, "So, I guess for starters, maybe would could begin with you telling me why it is that we're meeting here in my office instead of us having our normal road-to-emotional-enlightenment guru/grasshopper pow-wow in yours since you've got the more comfortable couch?"

Brennan considered her friend's words and then said, "I believe it was you who suggested that we talk in here since the topic you wished to broach with me required privacy, Ange. As a result, since I simply complied with your suggestion by coming here so that we could speak, I'm not certain—"

Raising her hand, Angela quickly waved Brennan off as she said, "Bren, the only reason I suggested we come in here to talk is because I know your office is currently...well...occupied."

"Oh," Brennan said. She stopped for a few seconds to consider Angela's words before she gave a firm nod. "Well, yes. That's true. Booth's eating his lunch in there right now. But, if you want to take logistical advantage of my superior office furniture, we can go over there, and I'll ask him to vacate the premises immediately—"

Shaking her head, Angela said, "No, sweetie. That's not what I meant." She closed her eyes for a minute, took a deep breath, and shook her head before she said, "Okay. Obviously subtle isn't going to work with you, although you'd think I'd know better than that by now—so, let's just start all over with the basics, okay?"

"Agreed," Brennan replied, and then frowned a bit before she asked, "The basics of what, Ange?"

"Let's start with the simple stuff, Bren," Angela said, "Can you tell me why that gorgeous G-man is in your office right now eating pie all by his lonesome?"

Ignoring her friend's reference to Booth's physical attractiveness, she blinked several times at the strange question. After a minute, she decided since Angela had specified that they were going to 'start with the simple stuff' that it wasn't some type of trick question that she was being asked. So, deciding to go with a simple answer, Brennan stated the obvious. "Because he was hungry," she answered slowly, as if the answer were quite self-apparent.

"Okay," Anglea sighed. After a few seconds, she then spoke again. "So, just so that we're clear…Booth's in your office, eating a piece of cherry pie, which you brought him…just because he's hungry?" Angela reiterated.

Nodding slowly, Brennan ventured, "Yes?"

Shaking her head again, Angela sighed in marked exasperation. "Look, sweetie, I know that you hate 'soft sciences' and all, but I'm really going to have to buy you _Psychology for Dummies _for Christmas, so you can at least catch some of the more blatant metaphors that seem to be flying way over your head."

"I don't—"

"I mean, come on, Bren," Angela said. "You brought Booth _cherry _pie, which he is now devouring faster than a PMSing woman with Thin Mints on the first day that Girl Scout cookies go on sale. How can someone not get what that means, even you?"

"The diner's choice of desserts was somewhat limited today," Brennan began to explain. "I wanted to bring him something I knew he'd eat, which meant some confection made of large amounts of sucrose, lactose, and fructose. By the time I got to the diner, since it was after the lunch rush, besides the cherry pie, my only other choice was French Silk pie, and I was afraid it wouldn't keep on the ride over without refrigeration."

"Oh, Bren," Angela said, shaking her head slightly. "Bren, Bren, Bren..." She then considered Brennan's words and nodded at her friend. "Okay. I'll give you this much—it does seem like you had a bit of rotten luck. I mean, I think we can both agree that you were pretty much screwed either way with a couple of choices like that. You had a choice between either a slice of tart and juicy cherry pie or piece of a smooth, creamy French Silk pie?"

Angela looked up at Brennan, who nodded in response to her friend's question.

Sighing, Angela said, "Well, okay, yeah. Like I said, that was a no-win scenario for you. But, even still, you went with the cherry pie, right?"

"Yes," Brennan responded. "It seemed like the most logical choice at the time."

"And, why's that?" Angela asked. "Because, it's a big thing, Bren. Do you know why you choose to buy Booth a piece of _cherry _pie and bring it to him so that _he _could _eat _it?"

Suddenly, as she noticed Angela's inflections, Brennan sighed. "Please don't tell me you've been talking with Sweets again," Brennan protested. "There's absolutely no symbolism here to be detected in any of my actions—"

"Brennan," Angela began. "I know you think it's full of crap, but come on. I think we both know your subconscious has been kicking your conscious mind's ass for at _least _the past week. Your id's been bitchslapping your super ego's ass all over the place, and since it's been driving you nuts, you've been driving us all nuts."

Pointing at Angela, Brennan said, "See, this is why psychoanalysis is crap. I'm fine. I'll admit that the workload this past week has been a bit strenuous, and I apologize if I've been a bit more demanding to be around as of late, but it has nothing to do with my psychosexual mindset."

"You bought Booth a piece of _cherry pie_," Angela reiterated. Quickly shaking off Brennan's protest, she sighed. "How can you not tell me that gesture wasn't loaded with lots of symbolic meaning?" She stopped and paused before she looked at her friend honestly. "Just in case anyone missed it, because I think it bears repetition, you brought Booth a piece of cherry pie and really expect me to believe that there's nothing symbolic going on there? Really? Seriously? Come on, Bren. This is _me _we're talking about. We _both _know that we _both _know better—"

"You are reading far more into this than you should," Brennan said with a sigh of her own.

"Like I said, Brennan, I'm buying you that book for Christmas," Angela lightly grumbled.

"Why?" Brennan asked. "It's highly unlikely that it will contain any useful information, and for either you to procure it or me to read it would be a complete waste of time and energy for both of us."

Shaking her head, Angela seemed to ignore Brennan's comments as she said, "This has just gotta be one of those areas where you just don't possess the right kind of info, because I just can't figure out how else such a certified genius like you seems to be missing the glaringly obvious metaphors here, when they're flying by you and your missing them left and right, since I know you would never been that purposely obtuse to begin with—"

"I'm not," Brennan interrupted her friend, the defensiveness she'd worked so hard to put out of her mind during her impromptu psychotheraputical car drive again creeping into her voice despite her best efforts to eradicate it from her repertoire of responses. "I just—"

"Brennan," Angela said, pointing a finger at her friend. "Come on. _You_ offered _Booth _a piece of _cherry pie, _which that man is now tearing into like there's no tomorrow. So, really? You're really going to fight me on the meaning of that one? Really?"

Shaking her head, Brennan sighed. "I can see I'm not going to win this debate with you." She paused and then groaned, "See? Like I said earlier, and many times before, this is why I hate quacks like Freud." She paused and then took another breath before continuing. "Everything always comes back to the phallus or vaginal penetration," Brennan said with an exaggerated sigh. "And I'm sorry, but there is more to life than just phallic or vaginal matters."

"Sure," Angela said. "Of course, there's more than just the phallic or the vaginal in the world, Bren."

Somewhat surprised that her friend was agreeing with her, Brennan asked hopefully, "Really?"

"Sure," Angela repeated. "More specifically, there's oral, anal, phallic, latent, and genital, Bren," Angela corrected her, attracting a dirty glare from the anthropologist when the hope evaporated into a flash of annoyance. "And, just for the record, it seems like you covered four out of the five with that one piece of pie, so yeah—well done."

Looking at Angela, Brennan tried to reason logically with her friend one more time. "Booth likes pie. I knew he'd be hungry. When I was at the diner procuring my afternoon repast, I got him a slice and brought it back with my salad. That's it, Ange. There's no hidden meaning here. Honestly."

Angela emphatically shook her head to counter her friend's explanation. "I repeat, you're getting at least volume one of _Psychology for Dummies_, Bren." She paused for a beat then added wittily, "Possibly, if you keep up like you have been for the past week, volumes two and three will be added with a side of _Fraternizing with Freud: Understanding Sexual Tension through Phallic Imagery Made Easy _and _Decoding Your Sexual Frustration: Interpreting Metaphors of the Penis and Vagina for Beginners_."

Scowling, Brennan immediately replied, "Those aren't even real books."

"And, how would _you _know _that_?" Angela asked, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Unless you _have _been perusing the sexual self-help section at Barnes & Noble?"

Brennan made a face at Angela's words. "I told you, Ange. That one time you found me riffling through the books in that section was because I needed to procure that 'gag' gift for Hodgins' birthday party that you insisted I buy. Since that point in time, I can assure you that I've wasted neither my time nor my money in purchasing 'how to.' interpersonal relationship books that are filled with inane mental dribble that can be found at any bar on a Friday night when brokenhearted men and women are pouring out their metaphorical hearts to one another in an attempt to salve the sting of loss and rejection they endured at the hands of the 'one that got away.' By merely listening to their self-indulgent pedantic ramblings, one can acquire for _gratis _what others spend millions of dollars a year on as they bolster up a literary field founded by quacks, charlatans, and self-righteous would-be love gurus. On the other hand, I can assure you that someone like myself, on a similar night, would be having an infinitely more pleasing and productive night once I had selected a partner with whom I would return to his abode, or invite him to return to my dwelling, so we could engage in at least one round of sexually intercourse for the simple purpose of achieving physical gratification."

"Oh, really?" Angela asked. "So, you're telling me that if you were at a bar, you'd end your night by going home or bringing someone whom with you to have at least one round of great sex?" Her eyes narrowed again in suspicion as she looked at Brennan.

Realizing the significance of her words, Brennan flushed a bit. However, refusing to be intimidated by Angela, she replied sheepishly, "Yes, I would."

"So, is this your way of telling me what happened last week?" Angela asked as she crossed her arms.

Brennan immediately replied, "No!"

"_Uh huh_," Angela said. "Because, I suppose this is the part where you expect me to believe that nothing happened between you and Booth after that thing last week at the club?" Brennan gave a curt nod. Angela sighed, "You know what, Bren? If that's true, then maybe you're right. Maybe someone like you wouldn't need to get some self-help books so you knew how to get your head on straight. Because, if you did own even one of those 'Men Are from Mars, Women Are from Venus' compendiums of male/female behavior, then your behavior over the last few days with Booth would mean that you were being deliberately obtuse about this whole thing with him. And, if _that _were the case, as your best friend, it would not only be my duty, but my privileged responsibility, to smack you very hard in the head for acting as whacked out as you have been."

She paused and leveled her gaze at Brennan once more. "So, of course, you wouldn't do that and so must be just sorely lacking the proper type of info to do the right thing in this situation, right, Bren?"

Her scowl of annoyance fading slightly, Brennan pointed her finger at her friend, a twinge of hurt moving across her face. "I don't understand the majority of what you just said, but, for your information, I'm not a dummy, Ange. I'm quite extraordinary is several different ways, and I resent your slight of my intellect and its inherent implication when I've been tested numerous times and my IQ has been estimated at the highest levels—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Angela said in exasperation, dismissing Brennan's response with a wave of her hand. "You're a certified genius on paper, sure—maybe. But, when it comes to matters of the heart, you've been a certified moron lately, Bren. A real dunce."

Again, Brennan frowned. Realizing that she may have been sharper with her friend than she had intended, Angela gestured for them to sit on her couch. "Come on, grasshopper. Let's sit down, and get comfortable, and then you can tell me what's really wrong."

Following her, Brennan reluctantly sat on the edge of the couch, knowing she would expedite the emotional browbeating she was about to receive at the hands of her best friend if Angela didn't perceive her as being too hostile or standoffish. When they were both sitting, Brennan tried once more to use logic to keep the conversation from going in the direction she knew Angela was pushing them towards. Truth to be told, she was a bit surprised it hadn't happened a lot sooner than now given what Angela had witnessed at Gleam during the prior week. Taking on an air of conciliatory compliance, Brennan said, "There's nothing wrong. I'm fine, Angela. Really."

"Uh huh," Angela said with a knowing look. "Then, how come Jack said you and Booth were putting on round 447 of the infamous Brennan and Booth Ultimate Pseudo-Sexual Bitchfest Smackdown at the crime scene earlier today? Can you explain that one to me if you're 'fine'?"

"Booth and I always bicker," Brennan said instantly. "We've been doing that for years. That's nothing new, because—"

Angela stared at her, and she stopped her pat response at her friend's penetrating gaze. Her brow furrowing slightly, the only sign that betrayed her negative response to Angela's question that would have been invisible to anyone else besides Angela—or Booth, Brennan reluctantly admitted silently—she finally replied, "I'm not sure to what Dr. Hodgins might have been referring, Angela."

Again, Angela couldn't help herself as she felt her frustration flare at her best friend's attempts to deny what was really going on in what was most likely, she guessed, was a futile attempt to seize control of something which, by its very nature, was uncontrollable. _And, therein lies the rub_, Angela thought. _It pisses Bren off that she can't feel that feeling any other way, but she can't help herself from wanting to feel that feeling_. _God, Bren, you're too smart sometimes for your own good_.

Looking up, Angela said, "Oh, come on, Brennan. Really? You're going to try to deny this when there were at least fifty different witnesses that saw you and Booth verbally ripping each other to pieces at Greenbelt Park?"

Angela stopped as her mind flashed to a similar skirmish that she had personally witnessed at the nightclub the previous week, albeit from afar. She didn't think it was ironic that this morning's verbal throw-down sounded just a bit too similar to be coincidence considering the fact that once again, both Booth and Brennan were involved. _Yup, it's a good thing so many people saw what happened today. There's no realistic way Brennan can deny this one_—_unlike the last time when she conveniently didn't have any significant audience that saw what was going on and could give details about what actually happened between those two_, Angela thought wryly. _But, maybe Bren is being honest. Maybe Jack was just exaggerating again. I guess there's only one way to find out for certain. _

She stopped and then smiled as decided to plant a bit of very specific type of imagery in her best friend's mind to see how personally and emotionally Brennan would respond. _If nothing's happened between her and Booth, it shouldn't be a big deal. But, if I've missed something_—_well, then, look out..._

"Come on, Bren," Angela pleaded. "From what Hodgins said, you and Booth were shredding each other to pieces. What I can't figure out is that, unless it was some strange type of sado-masochistic type of foreplay that you and Booth were into, why waste time with words? Why not just—well, not to put too fine a point on it, but I'm all for the idea of you ripping Booth's clothes off that gorgeous body of his—especially any time he's in one of those sexy FBI suits of his…and _especially _when he's wearing that black wool overcoat of his. I mean, come on, honey—"

She stopped, tilted her head, and stared at Brennan expectantly, hoping her friend would take the bait. "I mean, he's got to look as fantastic underneath all those clothes as he does in them, right? I mean, just from a purely hypothetical standpoint, I don't know how anyone wouldn't just want to tear off every shred of clothing that he's got on that rock-hard body of his. He's just—well, that's just _hot_!"

Angela had known as soon as she mentioned the suit, she'd had Brennan. It was a little known fact that Brennan thought she had hidden from everyone but a few keenly observant people who spoke fluent Brennanish—and had, for the most part, actually managed to keep it a secret—over the years. But, even when Angela knew she had Brennan at the mention of Booth in his suits, she _had _decided a bit more was needed—of course, better to be safe than sorry, as she'd initially—and so she laid it on as thick as she could.

She'd had to suppress a grin when she saw her friend's tense body shiver slightly at the mention of ripping off Booth's suit. Angela shot her friend a narrow-eyed glance and saw she'd tensed through the progression of her mini rant. Brennan's face had paled and she had definitely shed her normal calm, although it was clear that she was trying her damnedest to keep her feelings under control. As she watched her friend struggle with her thoughts, Angela felt a bit guilty at Brennan's clearly escalating levels of discomfort. But, another part of her was also perplexed as to how and why should could've missed something so monumental as whatever seemed to have occurred—or not occurred, as the case might've been—between the FBI agent and the forensic anthropologist.

_Okay, I obviously missed something, _Angela told herself. _But Bren brought this on herself. If she'd just been straight with me, there was no need for any of this uncomfortable stuff. _She paused, as she thought of the image of Booth in one of his suits and bit back a smile. _Besides, she's the one who's making this as difficult as it is. There's no reason why the image of Booth in a suit needs to be a bad thing. I mean, when a man like that looks as good as Booth does in a suit like that, well_—_it's a simple statement of fact. When he looks good, he looks damn good, and that's that. _She looked over sympathetically at where her friend sat next to her. _ Now, if Brennan would stop being such a strung out spazz and would just admit it to herself and everyone else, things would be fine_. _I don't want to torture her too much, but the girl does need a bit of a nudge sometimes. _ Almost as if Brennan had heard Angela's inner monologue and chosen the perfect time to protest, she suddenly called out.

"Angela!"

Allowing a sheepish smile to cross her face, Angela said, "Oh, sorry, Bren." She paused for a minute before and before she continued, "Sorry, but I just couldn't help myself there. You know me and that thing I've got about hot guys in suits. I, _ah,_ kinda got carried away for a minute."

"Ange—" Brennan almost growled.

"Anyway," Angela said with a nod. "Right. So, why did Cam have to keep you and Booth from fragging each other this time?"

"I'm not certain what you—"

"What—or, rather, _who_—started it?" Angela clarified, as she crossed her arms again and stared at her friends.

Brennan considered her best friend's question for a minute. "While I still don't agree with your or Dr. Hodgins' descriptors of the situation," she said with a slight edge to her voice, "Booth and I _did _have a strongly worded conversation about the ineptitude of one of the new junior FBI agents that has been assigned to his field detail."

"Was there any way in particular how this person managed to piss you off so badly?" Angela asked.

Nodding, Brennan's face hardened as she thought of the young blonde FBI agent who had been the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back at the crime scene. She then sighed as she felt a sense of relief at being able to talk about Walters to a sympathetic ear.

"While it would take too long to enumerate all her many grievous errors, the most heinous offenses she made were in the course of trying to impress Booth with what was most likely a raccoon's rear limb phalanx as opposed to the human phalanges that she was supposed to be searching for since that's what was missing from the remains that were discovered this morning at Greenbelt Park. The most unbelievable ones were questioning my ability to tell an animal bone from a human bone, insinuating I made a mistake, and then calling me a 'bitchy lab rat."

"She?" Angela said, her ears perking up a bit, much as a dog or other animal might catch a whiff of something tasty before the delicious morsel manifested itself. "Wow. _She _did that?"

Brennan nodded slowly.

_Yeah, _Angela thought, suddenly feeling her guilt at how she'd pressed Brennan grow. _Jack conveniently left out those parts_—_if he even knew about them. So, Bren was provoked before the fight with Booth_—_maybe her freak-out was more justified than I thought. Hmmmm..._

Needing more clarification, Angela asked. "Really? So, which one was it?"

Brennan sighed. "I'm not certain of many details about her background, aside from the facts that she's offensively young, grotesquely inexperienced, unjustifiably arrogant, and has a surgically enhanced bust that is in an unrealistic contrast to her skeletal structure. Her bone structure also clearly indicates she is not of Scandinavian or Germanic descent, and thus there's a high probability that she uses some sort of cheap hair product to color her thin hair an annoyingly bright shade of sun-bleached blonde with unnatural-looking frosted highlights."

A wry smile broke across Brennan's face. "I also do feel quite confident in knowing she's an idiot if she thinks she can get away with verbally insulting me by daring to call _me_ bitchy or a lab rat!"

The answer that Brennan gave to Angela's question had steadily grown from a calm response to a verbal rant that bordered on hostile tirade. Angela's surprise at the passionate nature of Brennan's response started to creep onto her face as a small smile. She instantly tried to wipe it off her face as she was afraid that the smile might betray her amusement at Brennan's thorough but less than professional description of the woman.

_Ah ha, _Angela thought_. Now we're making some progress if you got pissed off enough at the idea of Booth and another agent_—_a female agent, who's blonde at that_, Angela thought. _Geez, what is it with Booth and every time he gets into trouble with a woman, she has to be blonde? _Angela scrolled through her mental Rolodex of Booth's exes and flirtations—Tessa and Rebecca foremost among them. _No wonder Brennan's always so sensitive about the blonde thing. _And, although Angela couldn't tell Brennan lest she distract and waylay the momentum that was finally starting to be in their conversation, she mentally patted her friend on the back. _It sounds like maybe this wasn't all your fault, and maybe you were partially justified in how you acted, after all, Bren. You just did what any normal woman would do, and Booth did the stupid male thing and got in the way. Maybe it wasn't the best idea to do it at a crime scene, but even still_—_it sounds like you were just trying to give as good as you got...and, that's my girl!_

When it became clear that Brennan had exhausted her rant, Angela finally asked, "Does this 'grotesquely inexperienced' and 'unjustifiably arrogant' bimbo have a name or what?"

"You mean aside from the tritely predictable one that her parents gave her because they weren't more original than to name their female progeny after a cliché color?" Brennan asked dryly.

Suddenly, another piece of the puzzle clicked into place as Angela thought about how Jack Hodgins had described Brennan's intensely emotional and extremely aggressive reaction to Booth at the scene. _Oh, God, Bren. All this happened because, in a nutshell, the blonde bimbo shot off her mouth, made eyes at Booth, and you got jealous? And, when you called Booth on it, it seemed like he was choosing her instead of you. Well, well, well... __that__ certainly explains a lot... _

She nodded slowly as she whispered, "Oh—"

Brennan's head snapped up at Angela's response. "Oh?" Brennan parroted back. "What do you mean _'oh_?'"

Angela shook her head with a laugh. "It's just that…well, now it makes sense why you reacted as you did."

"Why?"

"Well," Angela chuckled, uncertain how much to explain herself lest she set Brennan off again. "_Ummm_, it's just that if anyone could try the patience of even a saint, it's the Slitch," she said. She paused and then cocked her head at Brennan as she said, "Did you really call her a squirrel monkey?"

Brennan shrugged. "How did you know about that?"

"One of the rangers heard you, and he told Jack," Angela explained. "So, _did _you?"

"Perhaps,"Brennan replied with a blush. "But, I stand by my use of the descriptor."

Angela shrugged her shoulders as she said, "Well, it's not like Scarlett the Slitch hasn't needed to be smacked down long before now. I'm just glad you were the one to finally do it."

"Why?" Brennan asked, genuinely curious if not slightly bewildered at Angela's knowledge of Special Agent Walters. "And, how do you know about Agent Walters?"

Not purposely ignoring Brennan's second question, the artist was momentarily distracted. _Man, this is one of the few times when having to stay in the lab sucks. What I would've given to see her go off on the Slitch_. "Yeah, I'm glad you bitched her out, Bren, even though I'm sorry I missed it. But, the cool thing is that since you did it, it saves me the time and hassle of having to do it myself," Angela confessed. "Now, I can now cross her off my list of 'Angela's People to Bitchslap,' so that's all good in my book." She paused and then her brow furrowed as she shook her head again and said, "I never liked her—not one bit."

At last, Brennan couldn't hold it in anymore as she said, "But, how do you even know who she is?"

"Oh," Angela said, with a casual wave of her hand. "One of Jack's friend of a friend, a new grad student who—coincidentally has applied for an internship here at the Jeffersonian in the fall—knows her pretty well and is kind of a gossip. He told Sam all about the Slitch, who told Jack, who told me. I met her one time when we picked up Sam for dinner after a game."

Brennan arched an eyebrow in interest, which Angela took as encouragement to continue.

"So, anyway, Wendall—at least, I think that's his name—went out for drinks with Booth and some of the other feebs a few weeks ago after one of their hockey games. Like I said, Sam plays on the team with Booth and invited Wendall to join them after Jack told Sam there was no way in hell that anyone would get him on a pair of skates. So, from what Jack told me from what Wendall told him and Sam is that the Slitch was all over Booth like white on rice...but, then again, apparently she hit on everyone else on the team, too."

Angela paused for a few moments as she observed a flicker behind Brennan's pale eyes.

"But, the point being is that I knew I didn't like her just from what I was told about her. So, once I did meet her, and you know I consider myself to be an excellent judge of character—well, let's just say I didn't see any reason to amend my initial opinion of her."

"I find her to be incompetent, grating, and very obnoxious," Brennan said, after she considered Angela's words. "And, I find it even more offensive—and that should tell you something given how much I hope the prior summary of my verbal response has indicated my dislike of her—that Booth not only took her side at the scene, but he actually _defended _her."

_Aha, _Angela thought with a pleased nod. _There it is. Right on schedule. Now, if you just admit that you were jealous, then we might actually be getting somewhere. Now, _she mused. _How to broach this topic gently... _

"Okay, Bren," she said. "Now, I know this is probably the last thing that you want to hear, but bear with me while I play devil's advocate, huh? I'm not saying she didn't deserve it—and I mean, _really _deserve it, because we both know she did...and then some—but if you want to know why Booth did what he did, try looking at things from his point of view. You probably didn't choose the best of times to commence on her and unleash hell. Since she's one of his people, of course Booth is going to shield her from outside attacks—even if she was in the wrong and even he seems to be defending her..."

"But, I'm his partner, Ange—" Brennan said, just a hint of hurt coming into her voice. "He...I just can't believe he defended her over me."

Angela shrugged her shoulder slightly as she said, "Like I said, sweetie, I know you don't want to hear this, but you above all people should know how Booth is when it comes to his professional code of conduct. He's a by-the-book, strictly-professional kind of guy. He was doing what he had to do to protect one of his people, so you really shouldn't take it personally."

At this, Brennan let out a loud guffaw, but said nothing.

Angela watched her friend, and then tried another tactic. "It'd be the same thing if Booth rained hellfire on Zach and you defended Zach against Booth," Angela countered.

"Booth picks on Zach all the time," Brennan mused. "And, yet, you don't hear me taking Zach's part over Booth's, do you? No, I stay out of it."

Angela sighed. "Bren, first of all, we all pick on Zach, so maybe that wasn't the best example. Second, look at where you all were. It was a new crime scene, and there were dozens of people around, including Booth's entire field detail as well as half the U.S. Park Police. Of course, he's got to back his people, even if one of his people is the Slitch, in a situation like that."

"I don't care," Brennan said petulantly, this time she being the one to cross her arms in a defensive stance as she pouted slightly. "I'm his partner. His first allegiance should be to _me_."

Angela smiled vaguely.

"You're his partner, yes, as in work partner, Bren," she said. "That only goes so far though."

"It shouldn't," Brennan countered.

"Well, it does...unless, by 'partner,'" Angela prodded lightly, "you mean that you and Booth are something more than—"

"No," Brennan quickly interrupted her friend's trailing sentence. "We're just partners, Ange. How many times do I have to say that?"

Angela watched Brennan for a minute in silence, then began to laugh. Brennan watched her friend's unexpected reaction with a confused look on her face.

"God, sweetie," Angela sighed, taking a breath when she wiped away the tears of amusement that had begun to prick her eyes. "You're so strung out it's not even funny."

Shaking her head, Brennan said, "Seeing as how I would have to be dismembered for my body to achieve enough significant partition to be situated between two distinct points and then be 'strung out' as you've described, I don't understand your reaction or statement from several different perspectives, Angela—"

"Brennan!" Angela said. _God, I love you, sweetie, but you are_ _so damn literal_—_and so in denial._

"What?"

Leveling her gaze at the forensic anthropologist, Angela nodded at her. "Just be honest with me," Angela said in a slightly pleading tone of voice.

"Alright," Brennan agreed. "Although, I'm never not honest with you, Ange—"

_Right, _a voice echoed in Angela's head. _Maybe you're right. Technically, I guess I can't say that you're lying to me if you're lying to yourself, too. God, why are you making this so much more difficult than it needs to be, Brennan? _

"What is it with you two?" Angela finally asked her friend with a knowing, _don't bullshit me_ look.

"What do you mean, Ange?" Brennan replied, a bit of her earlier determination fading under the weight of Angela's glare.

"Oh, come on, Bren," Angela said. "This is _me_ that you're talking to here, remember? So, please, _please _tell me that you still aren't being as hopelessly clueless about this as you were last week?"

Brennan scowled at her comment, but remained silent as she looked away as both of them knew _exactly _what Angela was talking about—there hadn't really been any room for misinterpretation given the fact that the artist had repeated the final words she'd flung at the anthropologist before she'd left her at Gleam in the wake of the fight between Booth and Brennan that had started everything a week prior.

Shaking her head, Angela said, "Ahh, okay. I can see you still are. So, how's that working out for you with Booth?"

"We're fine," Brennan muttered.

"No, no, you're not," Angela said. "In all the time I've known you, Brennan, I've never _ever _heard of you losing it at a crime scene, in public, the way you did today. So, obviously _you're _not fine—and neither is Booth."

"We're dealing with it," Brennan finally conceded, and she immediately regretted it as Angela's eyes narrowed again.

"Dealing with what, exactly?" Angela pressed. "The fact that you were pressing all of Booth's buttons at the scene because you were jealous of the Slitch?"

Brennan paled at Angela's words, and forced herself to swallow once, as she held her friend's gaze. _I can't believe she just said that_, a small voice echoed in Brennan's head. _How could she do that? _A second, and more smugly masculine, voice that reminded her of Booth suddenly piped in as it said, _Well, what do you expect, Bones? She's just saying what no one else has been willing to say_—_even though __everyone__ knows the truth of what's really going on here._

"I'm not jealous," Brennan finally said, her voice so small that it surprised both her and Angela. "I'm not jealous, and I'm not sexually frustrated, and I don't have any connection to Booth aside from the fact that we're partners."

"Uh huh," Angela said. "Right. You're not jealous, you're not sexually frustrated, and you don't care about Booth—"

"That's not what I said!" Brennan suddenly snapped. "I do care about him—"

"Aha!"

"But only in a professional manner as one of my most trusted colleagues," Brennan finally finished, interrupting Angela's triumphant look, realizing as soon as her last words left her lips that they rang quite hollow, and sounded rather—well, for lack of a better word—lame.

"God, Brennan," Angela groaned, tucking her hair beneath her ear in an absentminded expression of her frustration. "I love you, sweetie," she said, echoing her earlier thoughts. "But your capacity for self-delusion and denial is of epic proportions." She stopped, shook her head, and then sighed. "And, now you have me sounding like Sweets. Great, Bren, just great—"

She stopped again and, noting the distant look in her friend's averted gaze, said, "Bren?"

"Yes, Ange?" Brennan said weakly, not bothering to look up and meet her friend's eyes.

"This whole thing...you've got to cut it out," Angela said. "Whatever it is you've been trying to do to fix things, it's not working, sweetie."

Brennan's head snapped up, and she opened her mouth to protest Angela's point. "But—"

"No," Angela said sharply. "No 'buts'. It's not working, Bren. And, you are wound so tight, I'm starting to worry about you." She paused and then shook her head. "No, scratch that—I _am _worried about you. Really worried."

"I'm fine," Brennan repeated.

"Right," Angela said. "Putting aside the fact that I know prison inmates with life sentences that are more sexually satisfied than you are right now, this whole thing has knocked you way off your game, Bren."

"I know that!" Brennan snapped.

"Then, do something about it instead of showing up at the _maitre d'_ with a reservation of sexual frustration, table for one, huh?" Angela pleaded.

"I am _not _sexually frustrated," Brennan said in a suddenly defensive tone of voice.

"And, the pope doesn't live in Rome or wear a funny hat," Angela joked. "_Riiiiggghht_."

Pointing an angry finger at her friend, Brennan repeated, "I'm _not _sexually frustrated."

"Then what's the big deal with Booth having gone out a few times for drinks with Scarlett the Slitch?" Angela pressed her.

Brennan tilted her head in confusion. _"Slitch? _You keep using it like you expect me to understand the slang reference. 'Slitch'? What does that even mean, anyway?"

"'Slutty bitch'," Angela clarified.

"Oh," Brennan said, with a slight nod of understanding. Then, clearly the delayed reaction kicked in when Brennan narrowed her eyes at Angela as she said, "Wait. What do you mean she's gone out with Booth for drinks a few times?"

"_Aha!" _Angela said. "See that, Bren?"

"What?" Brennan said, biting her lip as she knew she'd been had. _Yet another person manipulating me_, Brennan thought. _Fuck!_

Looking at her, Angela shook her head with a soft chuckle. "It's okay, Bren."

"What's okay?"

"You shouldn't really feel threatened by the Slitch. I think I know men, and particularly a man like Booth, well enough to know that if he'd wanted to go there, he would have dipped his nib in that company ink jar already." A smirk flashed across Angela's lips. "But, even still, it's okay to admit that you were jealous when I told you that Booth and the Slitch have gone out for drinks a few times—albeit in the hockey group of G-men that I mentioned earlier. But, even still…"

Getting up from the couch, Brennan immediately began to pace back and forth as Angela watched her with amusement.

"I'm _not _jealous," Brennan snapped.

"Yes, you are," Angela insisted. "What's the big deal? If I had a guy like Booth on my brain 24/7 like you do, I'd take an ice pick to the first set of ovaries that merely looked at him the wrong way, too."

Brennan stopped and then tilted her head as she observed with a vague smile, "That's would be just a tad bit violent and a slightly excessive response for such a minor infraction, don't you think, Ange?"

"I dunno," Angela said. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Brennan. "If Scarlett the Slitch was hitting on Booth, and I mean was honestly and truly hitting on him, and you saw it, what would you do?"

Brennan considered Angela's words, felt a flare of aggression, and then grudgingly admitted, "Probably at least ask to borrow your ice pick so that I could brandish it in the general direction of her—what did you call it once?—'cheap bottle-blonde dye-job.'"

"Just FYI, I keep it in the top of my desk drawer," Angela said with a smile. "And feel free to borrow it any time." She flashed her eyebrows, then added, "Just wipe it down for prints after you're done, okay?"

Not even bothering to laugh at the joke, Brennan began to pace again, and Angela watched her move back and forth several times over the course of the next minute and a half. Her brain seemed to be working so hard that Angela swore she could hear the gears grinding from abuse as her friend tried to work through some unspoken analytical process. At last, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Brennan, please—stop," Angela said. She was starting to get dizzy from Brennan's rapid movements.

"I can't," Brennan said, the weakness of her tone making the explanation seem even more lame than in reality it actually was.

"Why?" Angela said. "Why can't you just tell me what's really going on and stop acting so weird?"

"Because," Brennan said, her almost-monosyllabic responses making it even more blatantly obvious to Angela that she was getting closer to teasing out the crux of the issue that was driving her friend slowly up the wall—and taking half of the staffs of the Jeffersonian's Medico-Legal Lab and the FBI's D.C. office Major Crimes Division with her in the process.

"Brennan, it's not like I don't already know what's going on here," she said. "You do know that, right?"

That got Brennan's attention. She stopped pacing and looked over at her friend.

"What do you think's going on here?" she asked.

"I think I've known from the moment you started getting antsy when I started tossing around mental images of you ripping off Booth's suit," Angela said gently, trying to lead her friend to the requisite epiphany on her own.

"Meaning?" Brennan asked.

"Meaning that for a couple of years now," Angela began gently, "I've seen you look at Booth, and it was always, you know, in curiosity, as if you were wondering what he looked like underneath all those sexy-as-hell suits—and by default, what that stud-muffin would be like, you know, _in bed_."

Brennan still wasn't comprehending what Angela was trying to tell her, so deciding on a more blunt approach, she added, "I've been getting off watching you and Booth have eye sex for years, Bren. You two have been fucking each other visually for at least three years. It's not hard to see you undressing him with your eyes every time he comes into the lab. And, it's okay, I know you're going to deny it, but Booth's been doing the exact same thing."

"No—"

"See?" Angela said. "I told you you were going to deny it."

"I—"

Shaking her head, Angela said, "I'm not sure when or how whatever changed between you two, Bren, but now, since that night at the club, when you look at Booth, I can see a difference."

At this, Brennan couldn't stop herself from turning bright red in embarrassment.

Angela knew her friend needed to hear the words as she added more softly, "And, the difference is—well, it's as if, every time when you're looking at Booth, it's not as if you _wondering_ anymore, but rather the look on your face, sweetie? It looks to me as if you're _remembering_."

"I-I—"

"Brennan," Angela said. "You don't need to admit it. Like I said, I've never been one who likes to kick someone when they're down. You can tell me I'm right later. But, you _totally _did it with Booth." She could no longer suppress her smile at the thought of her friend having finally bought a ticket on _that _ride. _Now, the question is did they finish the ride, or is she still on it? _Angela thought to herself. Her mind flashed back to what Jack had told her earlier about Brennan's argument at the crime scene. _She's definitely still on it. She may not even realize it, or maybe she does, and she didn't expect it to last this long, but either way, she's definitely still on the merry-go-round of Boothness. _ "You know it, I know it, you know I know it, so that's okay."

"I didn't—"

"Deny it all you want, Brennan," Angela said. "But, we both know that I know you well enough that _something _has happened to change the way things were between you and Booth, and it happened at some point in the past week and that's part of the reason why you got all jealous at the crime scene when the Slitch came sniffing around Booth."

"I-I..."

"Don't forget, Bren, I was there at Gleam," Angela reminded her gently. "I saw, at the very least, whatever was the start of what all _this _is between you two, and if you don't want to tell me who won the argument, fine." She smiled wryly and paused to take a deep breath, saw Brennan flinch almost as if she were being physically hit, then softened her tone again.

"Look, Bren, I'll admit that I wasn't 100% certain what it was before I walked in here with you, and I'm willing to concede that I'm not entirely sure why you guys aren't pounding out all that oozing sexual tension in bed together instead of finding every other way to fuck each other but for having actual sex. So, yeah, maybe you two didn't go all the way—"

Angela briefly thought of the point when she'd realized that she was getting hot as she and Hodgins had watched some of the best entertainment that had turned her on like nobody's business. The image of the pair of them that night at the club—Booth leaning into Brennan as they'd stood nose-to-nose as they argued at the bar—was quite vivid in her mind. _I don't get it, _Angela thought. _If it were me, I don't know how they could've been like that around one another and not had sex. _She stopped and then mentally shook her head. _But, if someone were going to get that close to hooking a guy like Booth and then shoot herself in the foot, it would be Brennan. What I don't get is what she did to stop things from happening between them... _

"I'd always imagined a guy like Booth had enough pent-up raw sexuality just brooding under that straight-laced front he puts up to leave even a woman like you a warm pile of goo. Considering the fact that I know that whatever happened this past week, it doesn't appear to have involved you turning into said warm pile of goo, you may not have gone all the way, but, seriously, whatever's changed, you need to deal with it—and not in the way that you've been trying to handle it, because that is clearly not working."

"I'm trying, Ange," Brennan said, a bit of desperation creeping into her voice. _If what she says is true, then I'm screwed. I don't know what else to do. Damn it..._ "And, I thought I was finally figuring out a way on how to handle this properly before you dragged me in here—"

"Sweetie," Angela said. "Booth isn't someone or something that needs to be handled. You've just got to stop trying to micromanage and over-analyze and control every little bit of this, well, whatever this _thing _is that's happening between you two. You can't control it, Bren. Just stop. Enjoy it for what it is, and I give you the Angela-Montenegro Official Guarantee of Emotional, Sexual and Physical Well-being, you'll make your life—and Booth's life, too—a whole hell of a lot easier."

"I'm not the one trying to control things here," Brennan scoffed. "_He_ is."

"Even if that were true, and I'm not entirely sure how accurate that statement is, guys are like that, Bren," Angela said quietly. "Especially a guy like Booth."

"He's not going to control me," Brennan vowed. "It's not going to happen."

"Now, sweetie, you're being ridiculous," Angela chuckled.

"How so?" Brennan said, recrossing her arms in a clearly defensive pose, not that she'd ever really moved her arms from that very stance that she'd been holding since the midpoint of their conversation.

"Because," Angela said. "Well, that's just silly. I've never seen you as a woman who's easily controlled Bren, least of all by a man. So, yeah, I can give you a whole list of reasons why that notion of yours is ridiculous if you really want me to—"

"I do," Brennan nodded. "Please proceed."

"Fine," Angela responded. "First, I think we both know that Booth doesn't want a woman he can control. He's always wanted a woman who challenges him, which is probably one of the main reasons he's liked you from the word go, Bren."

_And, that's the reason he seems to have had a penchant in the past for dating lawyers_, Angela smirked.

"Second, like I said, Booth couldn't control you even if he tried, and I think he's smart enough to know that. Now, while I'll admit that Booth has a strong protective instinct for the people he cares about—and that shouldn't be anything new to you since it's been the driving force/pseudo-excuse for your behavior when you guys have chanted that stupid 'we're just partners' mantra over the years—but, Bren, look…that's not the same as a compulsion to control. It may be a subtle distinction for someone who's as emotionally tone-deaf as you are, sweetie, but even still, I think you do know what the difference is even if you don't want to admit that you do."

"That's not fair, Ange," Brennan complained. "First, you call me a dummy, then say I'm hard-up, and then you call me emotionally tone-deaf. Why don't you tell me how you really feel, Ange?"

"That's what I do, Bren," Angela said. Shaking her head, she added quietly, "After all, someone's got to keep you honest."

Brennan turned away and sighed, staring at the adjacent wall as she mindlessly tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

Angela stared at her friend, and while she was torn between not wanting to push Brennan too far, there was a small part of Angela that was just dying to know something—well, something that she'd been wondering for more than three years, from the very first minute she'd seen the very first round of Booth and Brennan's sexy little sparring matches that had become an infamous ritual since that day. Really, Angela couldn't help herself as she suddenly asked her question, before she even really realized she was doing it.

"So," Angela said, her voice dropping half an octave as she watched Brennan chew her lip nervously. She couldn't help herself any longer as she spoke. _I'll never forgive myself if I don't at least ask, _Angela thought. _She probably won't tell me right now, but what the hell? At least I'll know I tried_.

"Was he good? I mean, I can only imagine, whatever it was you two did, he must've been abso-_tootin'_-lutely amazing." She saw the expression on her friend's face freeze at her comment, and Angela wasn't sure if it was in embarrassment, fear, or something else entirely. Hoping the casualness of her inquiry might ameliorate her friend's response, Angela guessed, "I bet he rocked your world, Bren—or, at the very least, tried really hard, right?"

"Ange—" Brennan said, her voice tight and restrained as her cheeks and ears burned red.

Smiling in a reassuring way, Angela said, "Come on, Bren...give me something, will ya? One teeny tiny thing. It doesn't matter what it is, but I'm dying here."

Shaking her head, Brennan knew she had had all the truth telling of the oracle of Angela Montenegro that she could take at that particular moment. Suddenly spinning on her heels, Brennan said, "I need to get back to the platform. The remains—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Angela repeated tiredly. "Sure. Go forth, grasshopper. Go forth and swim free, because da Nile isn't just a river in Egypt, after all."

Brennan started walking towards the door. She was just about to leave the office, when Angela called out, "Bren?"

Her hand froze when it grasped the door handle, and, although Brennan didn't look back, she said softly, "Yes, Ange?"

"A word to the wise?" Angela said as she shook her head. "The way you've been acting the last few days—and Booth, too, while we're at it—well, you both need to get your shit together ASAP."

"Why?"

"So you can get things straight enough between you two that you can do whatever it was that you didn't do right the first time and fix it so that you can do it again pronto. But, please—for the good of the entire D.C. Metro area—do it _right _this time, huh?"

Not that Angela expected one, but she wasn't surprised when Brennan didn't even shake her head in response, but merely pulled the door open, and walked out as fast as her feet would carry her without it making it appear like she was actually running from the truth of Angela's very truthful words.

* * *

><p><strong>-TBC-<strong>

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><p><strong>AN2**: So, Brennan's self-confidence lasted a long time, didn't it? Okay, so she's scared and running towards her office...where Booth is—are you wondering how well that's going to turn out? If so, be a peach and click that little button below marked 'review'. Fanfic authors are standing by to take your reviews and are greedily awaiting your feedback...


	3. Ch 13: Self Handicapping

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.

**A/N: **"_**Cognitive Dissonance**_" is the sequel to "_**Costly Signals**_" (_**CS**_ for short). We strongly urge you to read _**CS **_because the events of "_**Cognitive Dissonance**_" pick up immediately after the end of _**CS **_. If you have not read _**CS**_ this story will be, at best, extremely confusing, and will in all likelihood, probably not make any sense at all. "_**Costly Signals: Part One**_" may be viewed under **dharmamonkey**'s fan fic dot com profile, while "_**Costly Signals: Part Two**_" may be viewed under **Lesera128**'sfan fic dot com profile. This story is set towards the end of Season 3, a week or so before the events of "Wannabe in the Weeds." Like** CS, **this work is the product of a collaboration between** dharmamonkey** and **Lesera128**.

And—just in case you missed the hint in the summary—like its predecessor, this work will definitely live up to its M-rating. What follows contains colorfully...err... metaphoric language, adult situations, and some very, _very _unf encounters. If that's not your kind of thing, no problem. Click the back button, and happy fic hunting. For the rest of you, fasten your seatbelts, because we promise a hell of a ride.

Constructive criticism is both welcome and encouraged, but uselessly mean comments that complain, or have nothing to contribute are ignored...so, please don't flame.

By now, I think everyone knows the drill, but in case there was any doubt—reviewers who've left reviews: we're so grateful, thank you more than we can say. Ummm, yeah—so, that's that...and we're off.~

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><p><strong>Chapter 13 - Self-Handicapping<strong>

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><p>Her face still flushed red, her heart pounding in her ears, and any confidence she had managed to accumulate as she articulated her plan earlier in the afternoon suddenly evaporated in the wake of Brennan's conversation with Angela.<p>

Angela's words echoed in her head:

_"I think we both know your subconscious has been kicking your conscious mind's ass for at least the past week. Your id's been bitch-slapping your super ego's ass all over the place, and since it's been driving you nuts, you've been driving us all nuts."_

"_This whole thing...you've got to cut it out," Angela said. "Whatever it is you've been trying to do to fix things, it's not working, sweetie."_

"_Putting aside the fact that I know prison inmates with life sentences that are more sexually satisfied than you are right now, this whole thing has knocked you way off your game, Bren."_

"_Booth isn't someone or something that needs to be handled. You've just got to stop trying to micromanage and over-analyze and control every little bit of this, well, whatever this thing is that's happening between you two. You can't control it, Bren. Just stop."_

Shaking her head, she clenched her fist as she tried to downplay the significance of Angela's words...and, more importantly, what had prompted her best friend to say them in the first place.

_No, she's wrong, _Brennan thought. _She has to be wrong, because if she's right, then I don't know what to do next, because_—_well, she just has to be wrong._

Brennan's mind was a swirl as the metaphorical duct tape that she'd used to piece her fracturing self-confidence back together started coming off, piece-by-piece as Brennan contemplated the significance of each one of Angela's words.

_God, what's happening to me? How can I be that obvious? If she's right_—_and let's face it, she probably is to a certain extent_—_I'm right back to where I was this morning. Things haven't changed __at__ all in the last few hours, despite my resolutions. And, if that's the case, I don't' know what to do next, because that means I can't deal with this by applying logic and reason, _Brennan silently lamented, _and I don't know how to act and react in a situation where you can't apply logic and reason._

A second thought occurred to her in that moment. _Oh, God, what's he done to me? How can I function if I'm so blatant that I can't even keep something so private to myself? What's happening—no, what's happened to me? It—none of it's going to work, now. If Angela knows that something's wrong, then everyone knows. And, I can't have that. I can't have my personal life the grist for every single person in the lab. I've got to keep my personal life private, and my professional life professional. It was one thing to gossip with Angela about sexual encounters where no one else knew the man that I was involved with—I mean, yeah, Sully was an exception to that, but look at how well that turned out. _

Brennan paused mid-stride, and shook her head as she said, _I just can't...I've got to have something where I have control over who knows what or else I'll never be able to keep things compartmentalized. I've been a fool to think that I could do this. I've lost my objectivity. I've lost my ability to think about the entire situation with Booth—I can't think about it rationally or analyze it appropriately. I thought I could. But, I was wrong. I've lost that ability. I postulated a good hypothesis, but that stupid plan of mine will never work. It's just a bunch of worthless bullshit. There's no way I can simply go in and tell Booth everything I'd planned to and think it could be so simple, so easy to fix. It's not, and I can't, and now I've ruined everything, and God—how can I face him now? How can we work together? How can we do what we need to do in the field? How can we maintain our partnership? God—what have I done? What did we do? What did I allow us to do? Damn—_

Brennan started to shake her head as the thoughts ran through her mind._ No. It'll never work. He…I-Iwas just being stupid. I have absolutely no idea how to begin to fix this, but, it's just—God, this is just so fucked up. The only thing I do know is that this is very, __very __bad. I was wrong, and I don't know how to fix this. And, it's obviously just my problem since Booth doesn't seem to have any issues about me...or us, God, there I admitted it. There is an us_.

_Fuck. _

The anxious flutter of fear that Brennan felt in her chest seemed to blossom into a fifty-pound lead weight. _God, what do I do next? I don't know what to do...what happens now? How can I-I...how can we? No, there is an us, but since I'm the only one with a problem about it, or who seems to have been affected by the creation of that 'us' it means I'm the one who has to do something, but I don't know what to do. God, what do I do? What should I do? What happens next?_

Seemingly on autopilot, distracted as she was by her emotional epiphany and ensuing emotional pandemonium that it had produced, at some point, Brennan had resumed walking from Angela's office to her own without thinking about what she was doing. And, more importantly, she continued walking towards her destination, not remembering who was in her office at that moment—and promptly leaped from the frying pan into the fire.

As soon as she walked through the door to her office, Booth's head swiveled towards the interruption. Brennan, a blank look on her face that made him worry as soon as he saw it, seemed to not even know he was there as she slowly walked straight past him. When Booth saw it was Brennan who had entered the office, and she was obviously in distress, he lowered his fork from where he'd held it in mid-air. Despite the concern he had at seeing her current body language, Booth was happy to see her and smiled upon her arrival. _That was faster than I thought it'd be. Maybe it's just some bad news about the case_, Booth thought, as he tried not to jump to a negative conclusion. Nodding at her, he said cheerfully, "Heya, Bones."

Biting her lower lip for a minute, Brennan mentally berated herself when she realized who was waiting for her in her office. _I'm losing everything. There's no place I can go where he's not there, where he's not influencing my life in some way. God, I'm losing myself, and there's nothing I can do about it. _

Ignoring his words, Brennan walked past Booth and went to her desk chair. Flinging herself down into it, she sullenly stared off into space for several seconds.

As soon as Booth saw her ignore his greeting, he knew something was wrong, and that there was a pretty good chance that it had little to do with bad news about the case. Obviously, someone had flipped her switch again. _Oh, God, what now? _he thought.

Glancing over in the general vicinity of where Booth sat on her couch, Brennan saw that the majority of the piece of cherry pie was gone but for a single forkful that rested in the container. Obviously, Booth had been about to finish it when she'd interrupted him. A faint tint of the cherry pie filling had stained the white plastic takeaway container a dull pink. However, for the most part, Booth had appeared to have devoured the dessert, just as Angela described. "How was it?" she finally offered lamely.

"Good," Booth said with a nod, a bit uncertain how to proceed. When Brennan appeared to be doing her best to keep it casual, Booth decided to let her set the tone and pace of the conversation. "It was good, Bones. I enjoyed it."

"Good," Brennan told him evenly, but with a weak nod. "That's good," she repeated.

"Thanks for thinking of me, Bones," Booth told her. "You were right. I hadn't realized how hungry I was, so this was great. It was a nice thing of you to do." He paused, and then reached for the can of soda that was on her coffee table, and lifted it in the air, almost as if to salute her. "And, the Coke, too. I know a lot of people wouldn't think that cherry pie goes with Coke, but it hit the spot, so thanks."

Waving him off, Brennan said, "It's nothing."

"No," Booth insisted, with a firm shake of his head. "That was a really nice thing for you to do. So, thanks."

"Fine," Brennan said with a weak smile. Booth smiled in return when he saw her capitulation. However, it quickly faded at her next words. "You're welcome...just consider us even for the coffee this morning, okay?" .

Shaking his head slowly, Booth told her, "One thing doesn't necessarily have to do with the other, Bones. I did something nice for you, you did something nice for me—we don't always have to keep score."

Blinking at him several times, Brennan said, "But, if we don't keep score, it's really easy to get overwhelmed and loose track of where we are, Booth. It's…that's—I can't do that. I can't not have us be even…equal."

Booth cocked his head and shifted his hips uncomfortably on her couch. "Why do I get the feeling that we're suddenly not talking about coffee and pie anymore?" he asked.

Her eyes narrowed at him as she said, "Why would you say a thing like that?"

"I don't know, Bones," Booth said with a placating shrug. "Maybe we can just chalk it up to one of my annoying gut feelings, huh?"

"Okay," Brennan said, slightly mollified. "Fine." She stopped and then tilted her head at him, "And, if we aren't?"

"Weren't what?" Booth asked, suddenly confused.

"What if we weren't talking about coffee and pie anymore?" Brennan asked. "Would that be a problem for you?" _Because I really, really need to talk to someone about this, Booth. I'm cracking, and I'm scared, and I don't know what to do. I need help_—_no, I don't just need to talk to someone, or need help from anyone_, Brennan thought to herself. _I need to talk to __you__. I need __your_ _help._

Booth considered her words for a minute and then said, "Okay, then Bones." He nodded before he continued. "If we weren't talking about coffee and pie anymore, then I'd say it'd be a lot easier to put all our cards on the table and cut through the bullshit and say what we were going to say," Booth told her carefully.

Not sure where to begin, Brennan began with the thing that had been bothering her the most besides not being able to speak freely to him. "I'm sorry," Brennan said suddenly as she leveled her gaze at him.

Slowly, as he was still uncertain as to what she was referencing, Booth asked carefully, "Sorry about what, Bones?"

"I overstepped the boundaries of good taste and judgement earlier, and I engaged in behavior today that was completely unacceptable given the fact that we were in a professional setting," Brennan told him. "I should have kept my mouth shut until I could've talked to you in private, but, I didn't. Instead, I let things get way too out of control way too fast, and I embarrassed both myself, the Jeffersonian, and our partnership...and probably you, too, I'm guessing. For that—for all of that, I apologize."

Booth's head jerked back slightly in surprise as he heard Brennan's words. He swallowed once to buy himself some time to process her words, searching for some trace of sarcasm or insincerity in her voice. But, as he replayed her words in his head and detected none, he realized how surprised he truly was at her apology. _Geez, Bones. And, now, for your next trick—_

Booth took a moment to lick his lips and then he nodded slowly, before he said quietly. "You're right." He paused for a minute, holding his eyes level with Brennan's. He saw a wash of emotions clearly shining in her eyes, and it frustrated him to not know what she was thinking in that moment. _God, Bones_—_what are you hiding from me? _Booth thought to himself. _Talk to me_, he silently breathed. _Please, talk to me. _Trying to will her to hear his plea, Booth didn't break their gaze as he said quietly, "You _were _way out of line." He looked at her and saw the signs of her discomfort, and he immediately wanted to ease some of her pain. "But, I appreciate the apology nonetheless. I know you don't like admitting when you were wrong."

"I must admit, it's not something I'm used to doing," Brennan confessed. "I don't normally do apologies."

"I know," Booth told her. "That makes me appreciate it even more because I know how hard it is for you to do something like this."

"I-I…I regret conveying you my opinions on the situation in the way I did," Brennan admitted. "It wasn't one of my better plans."

"No," Booth agreed with a gentle nod. "It wasn't." He looked at her, still silently pleading to go past her actions at the crime scene to the reasons that had prompted her behavior. _Come on, Bones. I know this is hard for you, but just a bit more, huh? Just come a bit more towards meeting me at the halfway point, and I'll help you. I swear I will_—_just, please_—

A heavy silence fell between the two as Booth's words trailed off and neither of them moved to speak. After several moments, he sighed, realizing that Brennan would need to be prompted if they were to make any real progress. "Bones—when are you going to tell me what's really going on here?"

_God, there it is again,_ Brennan complained to herself. _When did I become this obvious to everyone that they're reading me like a proverbial book? I can't stand this_—

Breaking eye contact, Brennan slowly shook her head, "I don't know what you mean, Booth. I just told you, I'm sorry for what I said and how I said it—"

_Oh, Bones, come on. Please_— Booth thought. _Subtle's not going to work here, is it? Fine. I didn't want to do it like this, but fine_—

"Bones," he began softly. "I'm not just talking about that," Booth said gently. "What's going on here, really? The past few days, it's…you've been—"

Narrowing her eyes at him, Brennan said slowly, "I've been what, Booth?"

Now, _that _tone of voice was one he recognized. _That' s the prelude to Brennan's next mood swing_, Booth thought ruefully. Sighing, he looked at her, her eyes still expectant. _Fine. Fuck it. If she doesn't want to do this the easy way, if she wants to make things so goddamn difficult, fine. But, she needs to hear the truth, either way, and that's exactly what she's gonna get. _"You have to admit, Bones, the past few days, you been a little bit, well, schtizo."

"'Schtizo'?" Brennan asked. "'Schitzo' as in schizophrenic, Booth? Is that what you meant?"

"Well, yeah," Booth said, trying to suppress a grin. "Your moods have been a little—well, erratic, Bones."

"_My_ mood swings?" Brennan asked. "You think that _my _moods are the ones that have been _erratic_ over the past few days, Booth?"

"Yes," Booth said, not breaking eye contact with her. "I feel like I've been walking on eggshells with you all week, Bones. I never know what's going to set you off—"

"And, you think that's because I'm suffering from a mental illness?" Brennan asked him. "Seriously, Booth? That's the only _logical _or _rational _explanation you can come up with as a suitable way to understand what's been going on here? Really?" _If that's true, maybe he doesn't really know me like I thought. Maybe...maybe I'm not being as obvious as I believed I was_—_maybe it was just a coincidental guess on his part, _Brennan thought to herself as she waited for his answer.

"I don't know, Bones, you tell me," Booth told her. "I'm asking the question here—what's going on?"

"Nothing," Brennan insisted, feeling her anger grow as he finally had to gumption to ask her a question she'd been waiting days to have him ask her, and when he finally did, it wasn't the question she wanted to be asked. "I'm fine, Booth. There's nothing wrong with me."

"Right," Booth said. "How you can say that with a straight face, I'll never know."

"Say what?" Brennan replied.

"How can you claim to be fine, keep saying that you're okay, when it's so clear that you're not, Bones?" Booth asked her.

"Well, Booth, you're the one who implied that I was mentally ill," Brennan said, her tone growing more and more tense. "Perhaps that denial is just symptomatic of my mental degeneration."

Sighing again, Booth pinched the bridge of his nose as he said, "There you go again, Bones. Putting words in my mouth. I didn't say you had a mental illness. Jeez..."

"You implied it," Brennan said.

"I imply a lot of things," Booth told her. "Why do you have to chose to be a pain in the ass and fixate on this one right now?"

"So, now I'm mentally ill _and _tedious, Booth?" Brennan replied. "Very nice, Booth. Perhaps we should take this opportunity to see what other things you've been wanting to tell me for who knows how long? Are there any other unpleasant things of which you'd like to make me aware?"

"See, Bones? This is what I meant when I said I feel like I have to walk on eggshells with you. I feel like whatever I say is just going to make you even angrier, so I'm screwed either way," Booth explained. "I might as well keep my damned mouth shut," he muttered under his breath.

"Then, I believe the appropriate phrase is that you're damned if you do and damned if you don't, so you might as well just say what you're going to say, Booth," Brennan told him.

"Fine," Booth told her. "You can't really deny that your moods have been all over the place lately, Bones. I never know what I'm going to get with you. One minute you're being a total bitch in the field and the next you're bringing me pie and saying you're sorry. It's been a hell of a race trying to keep up with you, and I didn't say you were crazy, but—"

"Crazy?" Brennan said, suddenly throwing herself up out of her chair. "So, now we've gone from you insinuating I'm merely mentally ill, due to what you diagnose as some type of mood disorder, to explicitly stating that you think I'm mentally unbalanced." She stopped and shook her head. "I'm glad to know that's how you really feel about me, Booth. You think I'm a crazy bitch, just like Agent Walters, right?" Brennan looked up at him and then said, "No wonder you defended her and took her part over mine."

"Now, look," Booth said, standing up himself as he unintentionally mirrored Brennan's posture. "I didn't _say any _of that, and I didn't choose her over you. You both were acting like two dogs fighting over a bone—"

"Bitches, Booth," Brennan corrected him. "The better descriptor would be two bitches fighting over a bone."

"Okay," Booth agreed. "Right. You both were acting like two bitches fighting over a bone—"

"So, there," Brennan said, pointing her finger at him.

"What?"

"You just called me a bitch," Brennan said, narrowing her eyes at him. "There was no ambiguity about that one, right, Booth?"

"God, Bones. Why are you acting like this? You know that's not what I meant," he told her. "Besides, it was your choice of words—"

"But, it's what you said," Brennan retorted. "And, aren't you the one who's always saying we have to judge people by what they say and what they do, not what they leave unsaid or undone, Booth?"

"I didn't mean it when I called you a bitch the way you're trying to make it sound like I did," Booth told her. "And, look—you know it."

"But, you stilled called me a bitch, after you implied I was mentally ill...thus, a crazy bitch, Booth," Brennan said.

_Aw, damn, _Booth thought with a deep sigh. _Maybe I can just go back to bed and request a total do-over. Because this just fucking sucks._

"Stop saying it like that," Booth told her, his frustration beginning to turn into anger at her stubbornness. "Just stop it, Bones."

"No."

"Why?" Booth said. "Why are you being like this? Why are you being such a—"

"Crazy bitch?" Brennan offered.

"Ya know, Bones, if you keep chanting it like that at me enough times, maybe I will start to believe it's an accurate label after all," Booth finally threw back at her.

Brennan stared open mouthed at him. Her nostrils were flaring as she was about to fling another sharp rebuke at him, when a sharp knock on the frame of her office door suddenly interrupted them.

Booth and Brennan simultaneously barked, "What?"

Zach Addy's head suddenly popped through the door frame. "Dr. Brennan?"

Not breaking eye contact with Booth, Brennan said, "What, Zack?"

"We found something that I think you need to see on the new set of remains," Zack told her in his usual monotone.

"Fine," Brennan curtly responded. "We'll be there directly."

Ignoring the intense waves of emotion radiating once again between the two, Zach shrugged and disappeared as quickly as he had appeared.

Pointing at him, Brennan said, "This conversation is _not _finished."

"Oh, I agree, Bones. We're not done by a long shot," Booth said. "But, let's just make sure we're on the same page this time—you want to finish the conversation, fine. We will. But, as soon as we step out that door, we keep things professional. No more bullshit like what happened at the crime scene. I'm not getting my ass chewed out by Cam again, understand? So we keep it strictly professional, Bones."

"Fine," Brennan scoffed. "I can keep my mouth shut if you think you have enough willpower to exercise some appropriate self-control and demonstrate some self-restraint, Booth."

"That would be a first, Bones," Booth said. _The you-keeping-your-mouth-shut part, not the me-exercising-self-control part, _he silently added, sure that no good would come of making such a clarification aloud. Gently mocking her with a sweep of his arm, "After you."

* * *

><p>Forcing herself to maintain a calm and measured pace as she walked from her office to the platform, Brennan felt a renewed sense of annoyance, frustration, and smoldering anger bubble in her once again. She heard Booth's heavy foot falls behind her, and Brennan had to compel herself to not purposely increase her stride so that she beat him up the steps to the examination slab.<p>

Cam, Zach, Hodgins, and Angela all stood waiting for the pair. Brennan, reaching into the pocket of her lab coat, pulled out a fresh pair of gloves and snapped them over her wrists. Zach shifted from where he had been standing so that Brennan could take his spot in front of the remains. He moved the magnifying glass over one of the arm bones. Bending over, Brennan began to squint at the strange pattern of swirly whirls and deep pock marks that appeared on the screen behind her.

"Extensive remodeling on the right distal radius and ulna, as well as the proximal left tibia, indicate a pattern of repeated trauma," Brennan mused, the emotional turmoil she had felt because of Booth swept away for a few precious seconds because of the calming patterns of the bones.

"Abuse?" Booth asked, meeting her eyes as he communicated to her, although the words remained unspoken: _Remember, Bones, we're keeping it strictly professional_.

Pursing her lips together, Brennan slowly shook her head. _Fine, I can do strictly professional if you can. _ "This pattern…it's unusual, but I don't think it's extensive enough to be an indicator of abuse, _per se_. Based on other cases I've seen, these patterns just aren't that similar, but—"

"But?" Booth asked, knowing that something about what she was seeing was gnawing at Brennan.

"But, these microfractures aren't normal," Brennan said. Looking over to Zach, she said, "Have you found any other indication of similar patterns on other portions of these remains?"

Zach nodded. "Yes. While cleaning the lower half of the body will take some time, I'm seeing similar patterns on the _costae verae_." Zach stopped and then said, "Of course, it would be immensely helpful if we could examine the missing phalanges, carpal, and metacarpal bones." Booth rolled his eyes. "Probability dictates, given the extensive pattern in both ulna and radius bones, it's likely we could confirm the pattern in the bones that were located in closest proximity—"

"Don't count on having those bones to examine," Brennan said as she looked at her assistant.

She ignored the look that she knew Booth meant for her, the one that said: _Careful, Bones. You're toeing the line there._

"The FBI is still looking for them, but right now, you should assume what you see is what we have to work with, and that's it." She then shot Booth a look as she mentally added, _See? I can do 'strictly professional', Booth. But, even you can't deny that it's a relevant point. The incompetence of your detail, especially with Miss Perky Tits Scarlett the Slitch heading up the search, is making my life more difficult._

_Deal with it, Bones, _Booth mentally told her. _Just deal with it._

_Don't I always? _she smirked silently.

Moving to look at the pattern, Cam interrupted their mental by-play as she nodded at Brennan and said, "What could have caused something like this? Brittle bone disease, maybe?"

Shaking her head, Brennan replied, "Given how little of the skeleton is free to be examined, I can't speculate on that point right now, Dr. Saroyan. This doesn't look like the kind of abnormality that I would associate with a genetic disorder of that sort, but given the variations in the way that disorder manifests depending on whether the individual has both genes that cause the disease, or just one of the two that are responsible for such a condition, I believe we'd need to test the DNA to prove or disprove that supposition conclusively."

"Maybe she was just a klutz," Booth remarked offhand, all of a sudden feeling left out of the conversation. _Don't ignore me, Bones. _"You know...no physical coordination whatsoever?"

"Booth, there's absolutely no logical reason to think the breakage patterns we see here are in any way indicative of a lack of physical coordination or large-limb dexterity," Brennan said, frowning. _I'm not ignoring you. I'm just not acknowledging you unless you've got something useful to contribute to this conversation...aside from insulting me by calling me a crazy bitch. _"It's highly unlikely that your theory could explain the perplexing features we see in these bones. Most of these microfractures are in various stages of remodeling. But, the majority of them are in the quiescent phase. The osteoblasts are really close to the cement line, indicating that the bone was trying to heal itself. But, something was keeping the bone mass from refilling like it should. After the osteoclasts removed the requisite packets of bone, the new surface was underfilled and seems to have resulted in a decrease in bone mass."

_A barrage of squint jibber-jabber won't cause me to give up, Bones. It never has. I think, if nothing else, I can hang in with you squints like the best of 'em because I have a pretty good sense of stamina, huh? _Although Booth's eyes glazed over a little at her technical explanation, he did seize on the one part he understood. "A decrease in bone mass?" Booth asked. "What...like she had osteoporosis or something?"

_Wrong again, Booth. See? This is why you should just be quiet unless you have something useful to contribute_—_like I said in the first place. _Shaking her head, Brennan said, "Given her age and dietary markers, it's unlikely that she suffered from such a condition. It's not common for females to begin showing a loss in bone density until they become peri-menapausal in the early-to-mid-forties. But, this individual is in her late teens or early twenties based on other skeletal markers."

Booth shrugged. _See? For all your squinty smarts, you don't know anything more than I do, so ha! _ "So, we're back to the brittle bone disease?"

"No," Brennan said. _Will you please stop it with the brittle bone disease? Are you fixating on that just because it's the only thing that we've mentioned that's easy for you to pronounce? _"I'm not willing to postulate that this individual suffered from _osteogenesis imperfecta _given what we know so far."

"Then, what other explanation do you have for this?" Booth asked her. _Checkmate, Bones. So, how do you like them apples? You don't know everything after all, do you?_

With a small scowl, Brennan looked at him. _I really hate you sometimes, you know that, Booth? I really, __really__ do. A colossal pain in my ass. _"At this point in time, I'm uncertain as to what would be an accurate response to that query."

"So, you don't know?" Booth asked. _Come on, Bones. Admit it. Admit you don't have all the answers._

Brennan again shot him a look—_I hate you...I really do_—before she reluctantly said, "Yes, at this point in time, I don't know. I...I can't identify any logical reason why this skeleton should show a fracture pattern like this given her age and general health." Looking up at Hodgins, Brennan asked, "Have you been able to find any environmental explanation as to why her bone mineral density might have been reduced?"

"No," Hodgins said slowly. "I've taken the preliminary samples, but it's still too early to have the results of any of the tests back yet."

Shaking her head, Brennan looked up and said to no one in particular, "The only thing I can clearly determine and confidently say is that whoever this woman was, she was suffering from a severe case of _osteopenia._" _See, Booth? It's not just me that doesn't have an answer on this one._

"Perhaps," Zach suddenly interrupted as he walked to the computer and pulled up a complex, multi-columned chart of numbers that made Booth's eyes cross. "Perhaps the _osteopenia _is related to the irregularities revealed in the bone histomorphometry and biochemical markers."

Brennan leaned back and straightened her posture as she looked at her assistant.

A vague smile crossed Zach's face as his mentor gave him her full attention. "There've been some recent studies that indicate, over a period of time, osteoblast activity can be inhibited to the point that bone mass begins to degenerate."

Booth looked to Cam in a silent appeal for a translation, and she sighed. "She was showing signs that could indicate she was at risk to develop osteoporosis. Some of the microscopic scans of the bones show that something was preventing new bone cells from growing which resulted in her bone mass decreasing over a long period of time."

"What could do that?" Booth asked. _Translation, please? _He gently chewed the inside of his lip as he thought about that forensic anthropology textbook he'd stashed on the shelf in the back of his bedroom closet and wondered if it might be high time he spent some quality time reading it.

Zach shrugged. "Hormone deficiencies, chronically poor diet, long-term alcohol consumption—"

"Wait," Booth said. "Long-term alcohol consumption could explain this?"

Zach nodded.

Turning to Brennan, Booth asked, "Define 'long-term.'" _He's your trained monkey. Explain what in the hell he's talking about, Bones_—

_Don't put this one on me. You're the one who asked him the question, so that means you deal with him. _"I wouldn't even know where to begin—" Brennan replied.

"Try a guess, Bones," Booth said, not bothering to shoot her any looks, since he verbalized his true thoughts this time. "I know you don't like to guess, but humor me, would ya?"

Biting her lip, Brennan finally said, "It would've had to have been over a fairly significant period of time. No less than two years of a schedule of regular and consistent alcohol consumption to have this type of bone degeneration...at the very least." _Happy now?_

Booth nodded. _Yes, thank you. _"And when you say 'regular and consistent,' I assume you are referring to some kind of a sustained pattern of heavy drinking, not just occasional or moderate drinking, right?"

Brennan nodded. _Isn't that what I just said, Booth? Come on, now. Pay attention. _ "Correct—this sort of abnormality would not likely result from occasional or moderate consumption." She paused for a few seconds and pursed her lips thoughtfully. "It'd have to be far more than alcohol consumed just for the purposes of participating in the ritual of social drinking."

Taking out his trusty stack of index cards, Booth began to scribble notes. _Okay, now we're getting somewhere. Good_— "If she was a college student like Melissa Lauda, an upperclassman, she'd have plenty of opportunity to kill some brain cells each weekend." He paused as he chuckled to himself, "After all, there's a time and a place for stuff like that, and that place is college, right?"

Cam looked at him, smirked and rolled her eyes, remembering what her old friend Seeley Booth was like at that age.

"What?" Booth asked, when he caught Cam giving him a look, and not Brennan. "What'd I do now?"

"Nothing," Cam said with a small smile. "I didn't say a word, Seeley."

"That's right," Booth grinned. "And, if you know what's good for you, Miss Alpha Kappa Alpha, you won't."

Cam shook her head. "You're blackmailing people now, Seeley?" He wagged his eyebrows at her. "I'm not sure I like that."

"It's blackmail, Cam. I'm fairly certain you're not supposed to like it," he said. He then glanced at Brennan, to see what she'd do as he repeated the words she'd once said to him at the moment when their partnership had truly been born.

_I can't believe you just did that, _Brennan seemed to say to him.

_Believe it, _Booth smirked.

"I found my college experience to be quite fulfilling, but quite predictable," Zach observed dryly, filling in the silence as Booth and Brennan continued their nonverbal exchange. "While I learned a great deal, there was little I did in my free time that contributed to 'killing' any of my brain cells." Looking up at Hodgins, Zach shook his head in confusion. "Why would anyone want to do something as foolish as cause harm to something as wonderful as their own brain?"

Booth groaned and smacked his forehead with the palm of his head. _What a freak that kid is, _he said with a shake of his head. _Why did you hire him again? Were there no actual human applicants for the internship that semester?_

_Because he's brilliant, _Brennan frowned at him.

Booth looked over at Hodgins expectantly for help. _Seriously, Hodgins? You're going to let the kid get away with a claim like that when I know you guys have your own still hidden up in the lounge? _ _I know, and you know, and he knows we both know that he enjoys more than a wee dram from time to time, so what gives?_

"Hey, don't look at me," Hodgins said, when he noticed Booth's look of inquiry. "I wasn't exactly Party-Jack in my undergrad days. The tutorials at Oxford aren't quite the same style as the undergraduate experience offered by best and brightest American party schools."

"Didn't you go to Pennsylvania State University while you were an undergraduate, Booth?" Brennan said, suddenly meeting her partner's eyes. _Come on, Booth. I asked, so you've got to answer. _He held her gaze for a few seconds, and he saw the lightness of her eyes burning intensely after she asked her question.

_You know damn well I did, Bones_. _What does that have to do with anything, huh? What are you up to? _Proceeding with caution, Booth replied. "Yeah, I went to Penn State, Bones, before I went into the Army. Why?"

"Well, then perhaps you can answer Zach's question?" Brennan asked innocently. _So much for your checkmate, huh, Booth?_

_Careful, Bones. I'd advise you to be __real __careful right about now. _Narrowing his eyes at her, Booth replied, "What question is that, Bones?"

"Isn't Pennsylvania State University consistently ranked as one of the top party schools in the country?" Brennan replied. _Oh, and what's that? Was that the sound of me moving my queen into checkmate on your king? Yes, I think so, Booth_—

Booth stared at her again as she waited for his response, and he then suddenly realized what she was doing. Brennan had somehow managed to throw a very clear challenge at him, tossing down the gauntlet so that no one but the two of them knew what she was doing and why. In no way could one make the insinuation she had steered the conversation away from its normal flow as perpetuated by the discussion of the case. But, at the same time, it was clear Brennan's comments were quite pointed, and from a certain perspective, could be taken to be rife with double meaning. Yes, Brennan was keeping to the letter of the agreement, but she was also challenging Booth. _Goddamn it, _he thought. Forcing himself not to sigh, Booth decided that if Brennan wanted to handle it that way, two could play at that game.

"I guess, maybe, at some point, it might've landed on one or two of those stupid lists that some crazy magazine or website is coming up with," Booth said slowly. _So, what Bones? Yeah, it might not have been a hoity toity private school like Northwestern, but you don't have to be rich to have a good time and get a good education, and I had both, so there. Big deal. _ "Sure."

"Ahh," Brennan said, nodding at him with an indulgent smile. _That was a bad idea in making that statement, Booth_—_a very bad idea. _ "Of course, one of the most frequently circulated and sited publications for that annual top-ten U.S. party school list is printed in _Playboy Magazine, _if I'm not mistaken."

"Actually, _The Princeton Review _is the more widely circulated list since it's published annually. The _Playboy _list doesn't come out as regularly," Hodgins said, tossing the comment away quite casually.

Booth, Brennan, and Cam all swiveled their heads to look at the entomologist. Only Zach and Angela didn't, as Angela snickered at a fact that apparently the other three didn't know about her fiancé's taste in periodicals. Shrugging, Hodgins said, "What?"

"Let me guess, you are a big devotee of the short fiction published in _Playboy?_" Cam asked.

"Well, yes, but I subscribe for the interviews, mostly," Hodgins nodded solemnly.

"But, I thought you said that you and Angela like to read them together?" Zach said, tilting his head at Hodgins. Booth snorted then covered his mouth to keep from laughing at the exchange between human and non-human squints..

The look Hodgins shot Zach made it clear that he was about to throw something at his head, preferably something heavy—very, _very _heavy.

Realizing she needed to retake control of the situation, Brennan tuned to Hodgins and said, "I was unaware of the irregular publication of the _Playboy _list as opposed to that of _The Princeton Review._ My mistake, then, Dr. Hodgins. I stand duly corrected."

Brennan paused when she saw Booth pretend to cough to hide a snicker.

_Somebody have a photo, because this may be a miracle. Dr. Temperance Brennan has actually admitted that she was wrong twice in the same day. Someone call the Vatican, _Booth noted.

Slowly turning her head, Brennan said, "Even still, Booth. Perhaps you could answer Zach's question about what would motivate an undergraduate student to 'kill some brain cells' by engaging in excessive drinking while enrolled at an institution of higher learning..." _Okay, Booth. You want to snicker at me, fine. How do you like that then?_

Making eye contact with Zach, Booth said bluntly, "You work hard, you play harder. Playing hard means you drink a fair amount of beer or booze on the weekends to relieve stress, you know—to blow off steam. Some people just aren't as good at balancing it as others are." _Like you, Bones._

"And, how well did you balance it?" Zach asked simply.

Booth shot a look at Zach and replied, "Well enough," his voice so terse that Booth felt assured that the little Vulcan wouldn't be asking any more questions on that subject. Turning his head towards Brennan, he repeated his answer. "Well enough."

* * *

><p><strong>-TBC-<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>AN2**: Hmmm... how's that for a cut? So, just to recap: Booth and Brennan are having one conversation, everyone else is having another conversation, and the two of them are starting to bleed together. What else does Brennan have up her sleeve? And, how will Booth react? And, what about those details about the serial killer, because you didn't think we'd forgotten about him (or her?) now, did we? Coming up, the second half of B&B's conversation. Will one of them crack and have it degenerate into another non-strictly professional discussion (despite their best efforts to the contrary)? To find out, get your favorite fan fic authors the number one gift on your shopping list—click that little 'review' below and give us our presents early. Until then...~


	4. Ch 14: The Intoxication Defense

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.

**A/N:** At the request of the indomitable **dharmamonkey** (who despises long author notes since most people don't read them anyway), traditional info, summaries, warnings, etc. have been pruned from this chapter. Please reference prior chapters for them. I still think it worth mentioning, constructive criticism is still both welcome and encouraged, but irritatingly obtuse comments that complain, or have nothing meaningful to contribute are ignored...so, please don't.

And, now, for a bit of a CD fun fact...this chapter contains the earliest scene (chronologically during the writing process) that I/we wrote for this story when we began the drafting process. As a result, it took a lot of time to draft and edit and bring up to specs, so sorry for the long delay. We hope it was worth it. Thus, since we've made you wait long enough, here we go.~

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><p><strong>Chapter 14 - The Intoxication Defense<strong>

* * *

><p>Brennan held Booth's gaze for a few seconds as his words hung in the air between them for a minute.<p>

_What are you up to, Bones? _Booth asked her silently.

She arched an expectant eyebrow at him. _I thought you're the expert on anticipating everything everyone does since you're the people person with the gut instinct, right, Booth? So, shouldn't you already know where this is going? _Brennan replied tartly with a brief narrowing of her eyes.

Booth paused for a few seconds to stare at her, holding Brennan's gaze intently, but after responding to Zach, he broke their connection and looked away as he smirked to himself. _You think you're so smart, huh, Bones? Well, it only works if two people play the game, and I'm not necessarily willing to play, so what do you have to say about that, huh, Bones? _Turning back to Cam, Booth quickly thumbed through the evidence in his mind, then shrugged as he asked, "Cam, didn't you say the tox screen indicated she was blitzed when she died?"

The pathologist slowly nodded. "BAC was 0.21," Cam confirmed. "Which is nearly three times the legal limit in both Virginia and Maryland as well as here in the District, so yes. If this woman had survived, she would have been very, very ill. A BAC that high typically results in symptoms of acute alcohol poisoning." She smirked a bit and then added, "Which is way more awful than the worst hangover you've ever had, Booth."

"I don't know about that Camille. You'd be surprised at some of the shit that happened to me after college." _Of course, we won't mention that little incident that happened in Cancún when I was on leave en route from Guatemala. _Booth stopped. The image of a rather long night that involved Patrón margaritas, his Ranger buddies Dave and Scott, and a dare about a bottle of coconut sun tan oil and a really pretty girl named Maria flashed in his mind. _Yeah, we __definitely__ won't be mentioning that night_—_or the next morning. Right. _He paused, unfazed by Cam's comment as the images of the random memory playing at the edge of his consciousness made him respond with a vague, "Strange shit can happen to you in the military, Camille. It's a world unto itself."

"So, is that you're way of saying there's a story there or something?" Cam chuckled as she gave him a knowing look. "Anything you want to share that might have some bearing on the case, Seeley?"

"Nope," Booth said as he rolled his eyes. _In front of Bones? Hell no_. "Not now and not ever." _Definitely, definitely not. _ "So, anyway—the new remains. If she was a party girl, did some serious drinking during her down time, she might've established a pattern depending on what year she was in school. But, if her background was similar to Melissa Lauda's—a good student, but personality-wise she was too controlling, anal-retentive, stuffy, and uptight, it might explain a few things." Booth's eyes travelled over to Brennan for a few brief seconds. _Sound like anyone we know, huh, Bones? _"Maybe...maybe over time, she developed a pattern of behavior. It could be that she was a drunken klutz. Because, if she was, a pattern of behavior like that could explain a few of these weird things."

"Such as?" Brennan suddenly asked, a strong frown distorting her normally impassive lab demeanor. _What are you trying to say, Booth? Is this your way of saying that you think I'm stuffy and uptight? Because, if it is, and you're the one who's calling me controlling, I find that very amusing in its irony because part of the goddamn issue I've had all week with you is the fact that you're the one whose made my life a living hell by trying to control me._

Taking a breath, Booth continued as he seemed to merely be brainstorming out loud to the others as he clarified his earlier statements. "A girl like that, afraid of losing control, might've used alcohol as a way to give herself some liquid courage to cut loose and see what might happen when she wasn't being such a complete tightwad," he explained. _So, like I was saying, does any of that sound familiar, Bones? Because, it sure sounds like what you did last week. _"She likes how it feels to be so completely out of control that she can't help herself. Each time, she ups the ante a little bit more and keeps getting a stronger high because she loves the feeling," Booth continued. _Admit it, Bones. You liked how I made you feel, and you've been spending the entire week trying to figure out a way to feel the same way again. What I don't get is why you've been such a bitch about it? What's the big fucking deal here, huh? _

Brennan had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from interrupting Booth's stream of consciousness, one-man brainstorming session, walking over, dragging him off the platform, and continuing their prior conversation openly right in that very moment. _I can't believe you're doing this right now, Booth_, Brennan thought. _I just can't believe it. You apparently don't think what happened was, as you'd put it, 'a big deal.' Really? What's the big deal, you ask? Why would you even have to ask me that? Why would you have to ask me why it was a big deal? Of course it was a big deal. At least, it was to me. But, if you have to ask me that question, then, obviously, as I've suspected, it wasn't for you, was it?_

"So, since she's not good at balancing things, eventually, she overshoots her equilibrium and starts to free-fall," Booth added, noting that his partner was nibbling the inside of her cheek and grinding her jaw back and forth as she listened to him. _This isn't about me, Bones. This is about you. This is all about you, just like it's always been_—_it's all about you. It's not about us. This_—_all of this crazy shit with you acting like you've been acting_—_it has nothing to do with what happened between us. It has everything to do with how you've been reacting to things. _"Before she knows it, she's stumbling into bed every morning drunk off her ass. Over an extended period of time, she's bound to have had a few accidents if she did it long enough. That could explain the fractures without needing to establish a pattern of abuse."

"No, it wouldn't," Brennan immediately interjected.

_I can't believe you called me crazy, _she said to him silently with an icy glare._ Seriously, Booth, you're really starting to piss me off. You're in no way qualified to make medical or scientific statements about my mental well-being, especially when it seems like you can just dismiss what's happened over the last week so goddamn easily. Seriously. How can you even do that? I'd love to know. Because, you're right. I have been spinning out of control. I've been in a free-fall. But, you're wrong if you seriously believe that you've had nothing to do with it. I've been more embarrassed and ashamed of my behavior this week than at any point in my entire life. _She clenched her jaw and drew a long, controlled breath through her nose. _ And, if you seriously think that you have no culpability in that_—_in everything that's manifested itself from the discussions that we've had every damn time we've been alone in your damn SUV to my unprofessional behavior in the field_—_then maybe you're the one that's crazy and not me. _

"Moreover, that's a completely random and baseless conclusion, Booth," she said evenly, "so much so that it borders on an irresponsibly unprofessional suggestion."

His eyes snapping up to meet hers, knowing that Brennan was toeing the line of breaking their agreement, Booth preceded carefully as he spoke his next words, as there was no need for an unspoken exchange on _this _point. "Wait a minute. Did you just call me unprofessional, Bones?" _So much for strictly professional, huh, Bones?_

At the sharpness of Booth's words, as Brennan stared at him with a glare that refused to concede, the other members of the team suddenly realized that more than one conversation had been taking place around the examination table. Cam and Hodgins exchanged a quick look with each other, while Angela folded her arms and watched the pair, wondering if she was about to see an encore presentation of the earlier argument that Jack had been so giddy about in retelling her that he'd almost cried from the excitement of it all. All three were quickly disappointed, and Booth as well, when Brennan finally ended the potential Mexican standoff with Booth, shook her head once, and calmly spoke again.

_Fine, you win, _Brennan thought to herself. _You win, Booth. You win. _"No," she replied slowly. "I'm not saying that at all. And, I apologize if my imprecise wording of my prior statement implied any notion that you found offensive."

_Thanks, Bones_, Booth thought as he smirked slightly and acknowledged her apology with a curt nod of acceptance. _That's very big of you. Apology accepted. _

"But—" Brennan continued.

_Oh, God, here it comes, _Booth mentally groaned. _Because there's always a "but." You always have to have the last word. You just can't help yourself, can you? _He noticed that Brennan had narrowed her eyes at him as she continued speaking.

"While I'm not implying any unprofessionalism on your part at this current moment in time, I _am_ saying your opinions on any situation that involve alcohol, as demonstrated by our discussion about Melissa Lauda's behavior in the period after she broke up with Lucas Hastings, seem to indicate that you have a tendency to jump to conclusions that are inaccurate or unsupported." _You didn't think I'd make it that easy now, did you, Booth? Come on, I thought you knew me better than that. _"Such speculation, given the context, could construed as both unfair to the victim and unprofessional in the sense that they obscure larger issues. Just because her blood-alcohol level indicated severe intoxication at time of death doesn't mean she was a raging alcoholic with an inability to remain in control of her body or actions."

He looked at her for a moment, and then conceded that particular interpretation. "Fair point, Bones." Brennan looked up at him in surprise. _What? _Booth replied silently. _It's not like you're better than me, Bones. I can admit it when I'm wrong, too. Just because I don't __like__ doing it doesn't me that I __can't__ do it. _She almost seemed to be getting ready to smile at his acknowledgement of her interpretation. But, then, Booth wiped the start of that smile right off of her face with his next words. "Maybe she was just immensely stupid the day she died when she, a normally moderate, infrequent drinker, chose to get drunk," he said. "And she made a big mistake leaving the bar with the wrong guy." _After all, that's what you were really trying to tell me earlier, right, Bones? Last week, at the club, and afterwards? You and me...it was all a mistake to you, wasn't it? At the time, you enjoyed it. But, now, knowing what you know, you wish that it'd never happened, right? If you had it to do all over again, you never would've followed me home. You never would've come into my apartment. You never would've let me touch you like I did. You never would've gone to bed with me. Admit it. _Booth felt a swirl of nausea in the pit of his stomach as he thought how much he wanted her back in his bed, but he tried to banish the thought with a slight shake of his head.

Brennan wiggled her toes once, desperately wanting to clench her fists in anger, or, at the very least, to crack her knuckles as she knew what Booth was really saying. _How can I not think it was a mistake? _Brennan replied mentally. _Look at what it's done to me in just the past week, Booth. Look at what you've done to me. If so much has happened that's been that been a negative in my life, how can I not regret it, and if such a thing were possible, how can I say I wouldn't do things differently then knowing what I know now? Maybe it wasn't something that you regret because it wasn't that big a deal to you, but it was to me, and I can't keep living like this, living with what you've done to me_—

"There you go again, Booth," Brennan said. "You're all too ready to place the blame on this young woman rather than consider the culpability of whoever did this to her."

Booth stared intently at her. He blinked twice, trying to convey all of his strong emotion in that single stare into the confines of her brain. _So, let me get this straight. You're still trying to blame this one on me? That's rich, Bones_—_really fucking rich. A week ago, you got drunk, Bones, and ever since that colossal bit of stupidity, since you think you can't handle the consequences, you've been making all of us pay for it. Well, you know what i think of this? I think it's complete and utter bullshit. You made your bed, and, now, it's damn well time you laid in it._

Her anger peaking again, Brennan shoved her hands into the pocket of her lab coat to conceal how she finally gave in to her desperate need to clench her fists. _You know what, Booth? I don't know who you think died and bequeathed some imperious power for you to command people to do your bidding, but I've got a news update for you. You don't get to tell me what to do. You don't get to control me. And, you can go to your metaphorical fucking hell for thinking you can. _Shaking her head, Brennan said, "This is pointless. Again, you have absolutely no logical much less empirical basis on which you can base your supposition."

For a minute, it wasn't clear to either one of them whether she was talking about his point about them or the case. _Why can't you just admit it, Bones? You loved the night you spent with me, and you want to do it again. What is so horrible about what we did that you can't bring yourself to admit that you_—_you, Bones, because it's not just me_—_want to do it again? You liked waking up next to me, didn't you? I'm not proud of what I said that got us there, Bones, but I sure as hell am not ashamed of what we did. The mistake isn't what you did, Bones—it's your unwillingness to face up to what we did. _Booth narrowed his eyes even further at Brennan, but remained quiet, afraid of what he would say in that moment if he opened his mouth.

Brennan took advantage of Booth's pause to reassert some of her independence in what she perceived was another salvo in the attack she'd begun to believe that Booth had launched against her in an effort to control her. "It's just as likely that she was provoked into imbibing as much alcohol as she did before time of death because of the infuriating and irrational individual or individuals with whom she might've been socializing on the night she died." _Like a knuckle-dragging alpha male asshole partner who overstepped __his__ boundaries and was...what was it you said? You were the one who was way out of goddamn bounds last week, and I'm going to tell you now what I should've said then_—_you need to cut it the fuck out and back the fuck off!_

As the partners continued their verbal duel, their body language finally confirmed to them what they'd already suspected. Hodgins and Angela looked at each other. In that moment, both the entomologist and his forensic artist fiancée knew that it wasn't Melissa Lauda or the new set of remains that had been found who were actually being discussed by Booth and Brennan. No, it wasn't either young woman who was the focus of their discussion, but an older, much more complicated situation that the duo was arguing about in some kind of code, and it was a situation that hit much, _much _closer to home for the pair.

_So, _Booth glared at her. _You think I've overstepped my boundaries somehow? _ _You want me to back the fuck off? _"Well, I can't argue that one, either, Bones. That's a good point," Booth agreed, a bit of emotion creeping into his voice. _It's probably a pretty good idea, but I'll be damned if you think I'm gonna give you this one, Bones. You know what? Fuck strictly professional. _"Of course, she probably had such lousy taste in men that it was just a matter of time before she went home with the wrong one," he volleyed back. "If she was cycling through enough two-time losers, it was inevitable, wasn't it?"

_Now, I thought we at least agreed that you know I only went last week because Angela made me, _Brennan silently replied. _I wasn't trolling a bar trying to get laid, Booth. When I want to have sex, I've never been so desperate that I have to prowl such establishments for potential partners. Maybe you do, but I don't. Last week was an exception to my normal pattern of behavior in more ways than one, and you know it! But, fine, you know what? You're right. I did end up with the wrong guy last week. _

"You may not believe me when I say this, Booth," Brennan said tartly, "but I find I must concur with your assessment. Statistically, anthropological research has observed any female who socializes in communal settings would have to settle for whatever male happened to be available on whatever occasion she happened to be socializing, regardless of how skilled said male might or might not have been as compared to other potential sexual partners."

Booth looked at her, and like Brennan just moments before, he knew _exactly _what she was really saying, choosing yet another favorite cheap shot to try and take at him just because she could. _And, here I was thinking that we'd settled __that__ one, Bones. Are you really going to take a pot shot at my skills in bed? Because, I know for a goddamn fact that you didn't have any complaints last week. And, I've got at least three different pieces of evidence to back me up on that one. The first time, I'd barely touched your tits before you went to pieces, grunting loud enough that it damn near rattled the windowpanes. The second time, you screamed my name. You fucking screamed my name, Bones. I mean, come on! Or, you did_—_and, that's the point, isn't it? _Booth struggled to suppress a smile as he recalled the first time he heard her blurt out his name at the peak of her ecstasy. _And the third time? Well, had I not been holding you up against me, your legs would've given out on you as you moaned my name. So, yeah, say whatever the hell you want on that account, Bones. But you know damn well how skilled I am._

_Okay, Booth, _Brennan wanted to say to him_. Fair enough. You're right. But, while we're on the record of setting things straight, for the record, I didn't go home with you. I went to your apartment, of my own volition, and chose to have sex with you. It was all __my__ choice. Do you understand that? It had nothing to do with you getting me to do what you wanted me to do. Got that?_

Booth sucked in a deep breath and rolled his eyes. _Fuck, Bones. What is it with you and the whole control thing? Can't you get it through you think skull that I don't want to control you? I never have. I just wish you'd stop for two goddamn seconds and listen to me_—

_I'm sick of this, Booth, _Brennan glared. _I'm sick of being ignored. It's time you listened to me for a change. I mean really listen. _

"Well, fine, then, Bones," Booth at last ventured, grinding his teeth as he said it. "Then maybe she just only got lucky up to a point." _I'd gladly listen to you if you were making some goddamn sense._

Her eyes never leaving Booth's face, Brennan said, "Luck is a subjective, nonsensical term. I don't recognize its validity or applicability as a theoretical or factual construct." Her jaw tightened as she saw the flicker in his eyes and his nostrils flare._ Is there where you call me a crazy bitch again, Booth? Because I'm ready. At this point, it's almost become a trope._

Booth cocked his head and watched a series of expressions cross over his partner's face. _I'm not going to go as far as calling you a crazy bitch, but I gotta admit, Bones, you're doing a pretty good job of convincing me that's what you are if that's what you were out to do, _Booth sneered silently. _As for the 'luck' bullshit? You can deny its existence all you want, but we both know what's what, don't we? We both know, Bones, you sure as hell got lucky that it was me that night—that I'm the person it happened with, instead of one of those losers you were putzing around with when I got there, and then you got lucky again later when we were in bed—three times, by my count, and you __loved__ it..._

Zach, completely lost in the rapid interplay of words and oblivious to the twinkle in each of the partners' narrowed eyes, continued to look at the bone he was holding. "Well, if luck means good fortune, than I can safely say that this young lady did not have good fortune on her side the night she died. Otherwise, she'd still be alive."

Hodgins mentally groaned at Zack's interruption, but breathed a small sigh of relief when he realized that Booth and Brennan were too far wrapped up in each other to even notice his comments. However, also sensing that the partners were about three centimeters away from once again either slugging it out or stripping each other in what was sure to be one of the best examples of aggressive sex that any of them had ever seen, Hodgins knew someone had to do something. If someone was going to keep the conversation from degenerating to the point where it'd be impossible to pool their resources and collective talents to get an ID on the victim, he knew someone needed to jump in, and do so as quickly as possible. Looking at Angela, she seemed to be reading his mind as she gave a silent nod of agreement.

Calling out, Hodgins raised his voice and modulated it's tone to get the bickering pair's attention. "So, _uhh, _whoa there. _Ummm_—" he said. "Wait a minute. How did we go from thinking the vic merely socialized with someone at the club to thinking she had sex the night she died?"

As expected, his question didn't really have any more effect than Zack's inane comment had a minute earlier. Sighing, Hodgins looked to Cam, trying to draw the pathologist in to bolster their power against the tornado of sexual energy that swirled between Booth and Brennan. Cam, unwilling to interrupt as long as they were still ostensibly talking about the case, but realizing that the situation was quickly on the edge of falling out of control, reluctantly complied. Shrugging slightly, she too raised her voice as she said, "I'm not certain, Dr. Hodgins. Granted, while I haven't been able to perform a full autopsy yet, my preliminary findings were inconclusive on any sexual activity near TOD. It will be difficult to make that determination given the affects of the humic acid in the matrix that we found her buried in."

Sensing a natural point for her to add her two cents, Angela piped up with another tactic. Perhaps if talking about the actual case wasn't enough to get the pair refocused, then a more tempting morsel of conversation that was slightly more in line with whatever it was they actually arguing about would work. "Well, if we're just kicking ideas around, it's not that big a leap to think she went to a club to dance, drink, and maybe—if she was feeling lucky— to try to score."

"Score?" Zach asked, looking up at Angela from where he was studying the bone he had been holding for almost twenty minutes. "As in a competitive sport or game?"

Reaching out and laying a hand on Brennan's shoulder, Angela said in a softer voice. "I don't know, Zach. Maybe Bren can take that one since she's the expert on that sorta thing."

At the touch of Angela's hand, Brennan allowed herself to be pulled away from her silent, but clearly escalating argument with Booth. "She didn't mean actually 'score' anything, Zach," Brennan said, shooting her friend a dark look. "Angela was speaking euphemistically. When she said 'score', she meant the decedent may have gone to the club with the idea of securing a partner with whom she could engage in sexual intercourse." Then, like a moth to the flame, Brennan's gaze returned to focus squarely on Booth's. "Because it's always assumed that if a single female goes to a nightclub it's with that goal in mind, I believe." Her eyes continued to drill into Booth's, and she saw a flash of something at her very specific words. At the flash of whatever emotion she couldn't quite identify, Brennan foolishly thought that she might've won, and Booth might've finally decided to give in and signal his concession by looking away, but, in the end, he didn't. He stubbornly matched her gaze and didn't look away until Brennan had to look back at Zach. "Do you understand?" she asked sharply.

"I see," Zach said. "Possibly," he modified, a confused look creeping on his face. "I'm not certain, but, I'm still at a loss—"

Booth didn't look at Zach but silently groaned. _I know I've said it before, but damn, it really needs to be said again_—_where do you find these people, Bones? This kid's not even human. I've seen monkeys at the zoo with Parker that have more personality than Zach...a lot!_

Somewhat uncharacteristically, Brennan interrupted her assistant as she felt Booth's eyes still focused on her. _So what do you really want from me, Booth? Huh? What now? If I'm such a crazy bitch, and you're the omnipotent and omniscient god that you think you are, what do you still need from me? _Turning to Hodgins, she looked at him sharply as she spoke. "Of course, it would help if we could confirm that she'd been clothed when she was found. Dr. Hodgins, what results have your preliminary investigations into the particulates found?" Brennan asked brusquely.

Hodgins shot Angela a look, she shrugged slightly, and he did his best to placate the irate forensic anthropologist with the correct answer. "Unfortunately, nothing indicative of any fibers, natural or synthetic," he said with a shrug. "There just wasn't a lot there to work with in the way of fibers, Dr. B. Given the scarcity of those specific particulates, I can't say for certain, but at this point I'm willing to say that it's likely that she wasn't wearing any clothes at the time she was placed at the scene."

For the first time in quite a while, Booth looked over to Hodgins, and his focus was torn from Brennan. Glancing down at his note cards, he shuffled through several of them until he found the spot he remembered in his notes on Melissa Lauda. After he had re-read his own scribbled thoughts as contained in the notecards, it was much as he'd remembered. Looking up from his note cards, and arching his eyebrow at hearing that bit of information, he asked, "No clothes?"

"No," Hodgins repeated. "I don't think so."

"Damn,"Booth cursed quietly. "That's not good."

"Why?" Hodgins asked curiously.

"Because, when you find the body of a dead girl like that, no clothes usually means it's a sex crime," Booth explained.

Brennan, not noticing the shift in Booth's demeanor, took that opportunity to speak up again. "I would once again remind everyone that it's pointless to make such unfounded suppositions at this point in the very early stages of this investigation." _Guessing is a complete waste of time, and you know it, Booth._

_Oh, God, _Booth moaned. _You know what, Bones? Not everything is necessarily always about you. Maybe if you weren't so self-centered all the goddamn time_—

Her eyes flashing to Booth, Brennan had to bite her lip again from speaking out loud. _Enough. Don't you dare to presume that you know a single goddamn thing about me, Booth. You don't. You think you do, but you don't, you arrogant asshole! _

Looking back over at Hodgins, Brennan asked, "How certain are you about the lack of fibers, Dr. Hodgins?"

"Pretty sure, Dr. B.," Hodgins replied with an arch of his eyebrows. "Why?"

"Because," Brennan responded as she refused to meet Booth's gaze despite the fact that she could feel his eyes on her. "Booth knows more about it than I do, obviously, but he was sharing the most fascinating details with me about this new diagnostic tool that the FBI's developed for its field agents."

"Oh?" Hodgins asked, uncertain in he was stepping onto a metaphorical minefield at responding to Brennan's comment or legitimately helping the case with his comments.

"Yes," Brennan nodded. "Apparently, there's a new protocol for determining intent in specific situations regarding females that are the subject of investigations." She finally looked over at Booth when she paused for a few seconds to take a deep breath before she continued and said, "Now, despite the fact that it was developed as a psychological tool, and you all know my opinions of anything that's remotely connected to the balderdash perpetuated by such a quasi-science like psychology, but apparently—well, I've to admit that I'm a little uncertain of the details, so Booth, you should feel free to interrupt me at any time—" _Since you do it all the time anyway_, Brennan grumbled to herself. "—but, as I've understood it, the technique allows the discernment of a female's mental state at the time of death, particularly in reference to determining her amenability to engage in sexual behavior on the night she died all based on what type of undergarments the woman was wearing on the night in question," Brennan said, leveling her gaze at Booth. "So, obviously, with that in mind, we could probably solve this case right now if you can just tell us if she was wearing a pair of cotton bikinis or a thong."

_God, you can be such a bitch when you wanna be, you know that, Bones? Why does everything always have to be the goddamn hard way with you, huh? _Booth narrowed his eyes in response, but then nodded as he clarified for the rest of the team. "That's true, Bones. It's this new little profiling trick one of the guys who works with some of the more whacked out sex crime cases came up with, and he's been able to demonstrate its effectiveness pretty accurately." _You know what, Bones_—_we're going around in circles here, and I'm getting kinda sick of it. _He continued to stare at her as he then added, "Of course, it's not a foolproof procedure if the vic was in an irrational frame of mind and just wanted to do whatever she was going to do to prove a point, particularly if she was trying to prove the point because it had been—" He stopped, looked over at Hodgins and then grinned. "Well, let's just say if it'd been a while for her, the desperation skews the profile so there's no telling what might've been going through her head. But, on the whole, it's a pretty useful technique."

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Brennan clucked her tongue as she lightly rebuked her partner. _You know, it's one thing to call me crazy, Booth, but it's another thing to say I'm desperate. Don't you think it's a bit much to say that? Desperation implies recklessness, urgency, and a risk_—_while I may've been desperate last week, I'm not anymore. It was a mistake, like I said, but an isolated incident. And, that's it_—

"Now, you aren't insinuating she was sexually promiscuous again, I hope," Brennan said, her utterance a statement not a question. "Because, if you are, I refer you back to our prior discussion in the course of conducting the analysis of Melissa Lauda. A female's behavior on one single night, taken out of context and isolated from the rest of her life, can't establish a baseline of behavior against which all her others should be measured. So, if you are insinuating that the second set of remains belonged to a person that was recklessly promiscuous—" _So, just in case you missed it, Booth, the translation is: you don't know me nearly as well as you think you do._

"No, I'm not," Booth immediately cut Brennan off. "I'm not insinuating that at all." Sighing, he pursed his lips as he realized he had said the statement he needed to tell Brennan was again several times in the past few days—would probably have to say again at some point in the near future—and he was already tired of it. "I didn't say that, so please don't put words in my mouth, Bones," he added. _Again. Just like you always do_, Booth thought to himself.

Brennan watched as Booth looked away, but still wasn't willing to let go of the situation. _If you would only say what you mean, Booth, and mean what you say, maybe these communication problems we seem to keep having wouldn't be so problematic. I'm telling you exactly how things are, as far as I'm concerned. I just wish you'd do the same, and ask me since you might not know everything that you think you do. _"Just because she got drunk or did something stupid doesn't mean she wasn't intelligent, Booth."

"Did I imply she was stupid?" Booth retorted. _Yep, there you go again. It's like Brennan plays Booth Mad-Libs. Always putting words in my mouth, and the result makes no sense, because you're too busy filling in the blanks to give any thought to what I might actually be saying. Jesus, Bones_—

"I don't know, you tell me since you're always accusing me of putting words in your mouth," Brennan said as she crossed her arms.

_Only because that's what you do, all the damn time. _"Now, wait a second—I think even smart people can act really stupid if they stop thinking, Bones," Booth said. _Or, sometimes, when they out-think themselves. _"Even the best of them." _Even you if you'd ever man up and admit it, Bones._

_Unbelievable, _the thought echoed in Brennan's mind. _You're completely and totally unbelievable, Booth. _"She may've been extremely intelligent, but she might've just made an unwise choice in a moment of weakness because she was tempted, or maybe it was just a stupid mistake, a one-time-thing—isn't that how you'd say it?" Brennan shot back at him, realizing she was coming dangerously close to dropping the charade of their exchange.

"Like I said, intelligent women make irrational and unintelligent choices all the time, Bones. It's only worse when they compound the original error with another one that's worse than the first," Booth replied. _And, that's what you're doing, by the way. That's what you've been doing for almost eight days, and it's been making my life a living hell, Bones. Fuck_. He stopped, and then, deciding to bring the conversation fully back to the case before it spun too far out of control, he added with a sigh, "Everything else aside, the fact is, in all likelihood, that this girl went to that club that night looking to hook up." _Just because you didn't doesn't mean she didn't either, Bones._

"Why do you keep trying to bring this back to the issue of her sexuality?" Brennan asked. _I don't understand you. I really don't. I mean, at least I don't pretend to be some type of goddamn Boothwhisperer like that show with dogs that my dad loves, but even still_—

"Simple," Booth told her, and for once, he was being honest. "Serial killer typology says sexuality is one of the primary considerations that can shape victimology patterns, Bones."

Brennan shook her head in disgust. _I've just about reached the end of my rope on the psychobabble for today, Booth. I've had all I can take, okay? _ "Ugh, what psychological tripe. You've been spending far too much time with Sweets if you really believe that stuff has any legitimate accuracy, Booth."

"And you just can't stand the fact that I might just have more to offer to solving this case than you do," Booth said with a sharp edge in his voice. _Could we focus here? Please? Just for a second, could you do what needs to be done_—_?_ Booth stopped mid-thought, a sudden level of comprehension breaking over him as he had an epiphany about Brennan. _God, is that what this is about? Is that why you've been so fucking batty? Seriously, Bones? _ "It drives you nuts that for one incredible split second, you don't have control, Bones, doesn't it?" he asked, verbalizing his thoughts. When he saw Brennan pale at his words, he nodded, his confidence increasing. "Yeah, that's it, isn't it? You're not in control and so you're making everyone else around you pay." _You're not in control of me, you're not in control of us, and you're not in control of how you feel about everything and that's scaring the living shit out of you, isn't it? Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's it._

"That's inaccurate," Brennan said dryly, refusing for some reason to respond to Booth's taunt. _This has nothing to do with me and a fear of anything, least of all a fear of losing control. _Even as Brennan thought the words, another voice echoed in her mind that she was making a terrible habit of lying quite horrible lies. "I've never doubted your skills, Booth. But, I still don't understand why you insist on taking such a condescending tone with me." _That is, _she glared at him, _when I'm not the one who seems to have forgotten that the basic notion of a partnership is founded on equality between those involved—_

"The initial profile," Booth interrupted Brennan abruptly, "which Sweets wrote up after I asked for his help, by the way, is that the killer is targeting physically attractive females, approximately early twenties to mid-thirties, who probably are very intelligent, but tend to have difficulty establishing long term relationships due to 'deep-seated' trust issues. We won't know for certain until we confirm the identity on the second set of remains, but using Melissa Lauda as a baseline, Sweets feels pretty good about the profile." _That's what this is really about, isn't it? God, I was an idiot not to have seen this before now_—

"You have an idea that you know the identity of the second victim?" Brennan asked, suddenly realizing that Booth had been holding out on her as he never would have gone to Sweets with a single victim on which to build a killer's profile. It irked her, and made her feel slightly panicked to know that Booth was turning to someone else when he'd in the past, at the very least, informed her of his plans to seek outside counsel. _Are you going to take that away from me, too, Booth? Our partnership? Is that the last thing that you're going to try to take away from me? Or, is this just a little demonstration to let me know what'll happen if I refuse to come to heel like the wonderful little submissive woman that you seem to want in your life? Well, I've got news for you, Booth. I don't need you. I don't need anyone. So, you're a bigger fool than I thought if you think I need you, Booth_—_or, if you think this is how you can let me know that you're the one calling the shots, here, Booth? It's a waste of time_—_a __complete__ waste of time. _

"Now, did I say that?" Booth said innocently. _Come on, Bones. I can't believe that I'm the one who needs to tell you this, but let's be logical. If I wanted to try to control you, why would I have waited until now to start? Why three years after the fact? In any case, if I really only wanted a woman in my life who I could control, there are a hundred other women that I could've chosen that would've made things a whole hell of a lot easier. So, why would I make the dumb mistake of trying to control the one woman who would make my life miserable if I even thought about trying to control her? That doesn't make any sense does it? Come on, Bones_—_for once, __think__. Did I ever say that I wanted to control you? And why would I want to? _His response caused Brennan to pale a bit, as if he'd heard her words. However, staring into one another's eyes, this time it was Brennan who broke first.

Slowly, Brennan shook her head. "No, you didn't," she conceded. _ But, that's what it's felt like for a week, Booth_—_an entire week. _"You didn't say that at all."

"That's right," Booth said with a nod. "I didn't." _Maybe things aren't what they seem, Bones. Maybe_—_maybe you need to stop obsessing over this whole control-freak thing and deal with what's really bothering you. _"In case you were wondering, though, the profile is a piece of information I have and you don't, Bones, but since I do believe in treating my partner equitably, as you well know, I'll be happy to get you a copy of his report so you can read it, despite your pointed dismissal of it as a useful resource." _You're still my partner, and nothing's changed that. Do you understand that? No matter what happens with—well, with all that happened last week._ _You'll still be my partner. You still are my partner.  
><em>

Brennan again felt herself paled as she looked at him. Several tense seconds passed before she swallowed hard, nodded once, and then looked away.

Cam, realizing she had work to do, and that not much more would be able to be done unless she got rid of Brennan and Booth, read between the lines of what the FBI agent was officially saying about the case. She took advantage of the pause between them and then and cut in on their exchange. "Even though, for the record, I'd like to go down as saying I'd officially appreciate it if we could keep sports _out_ of the lab—" Cam stopped at that point and stared at Booth. He frowned in response, and Cam took it as a sign to continue. "And, I'm sorry to interrupt this fascinating verbal tennis match, but, Booth, are you saying the FBI's thinking we have a serial killer on our hands?"

With a measured look at his friend, Booth slowly nodded, some of the tension that had been emanating from him and Brennan having finally begun to dissipate. "I don't want to speak too soon, but yeah, Cam. My gut instinct says, based on interval between body dumps, the proximity of the locales, similarities in the vics' vital statistics, etc.—there _does _seems to be a preliminary MO."

Brennan turned to him, her eyes clear of an angry gleam for the first time since she emerged from her office with Booth a half-hour before. "Until we can confirm official cause of death on the second body from Greenbelt Park, I would prefer waiting to connect the two homicides, let alone postulate that they're the work of a serial killer," she added quietly. Both Cam and Booth noticed the change in her tone of voice as she spoke. Both of them instantaneously realized some of the emotion had gone out of it, and she seemed like the Brennan of old. Slowly, she added simply, "Just to be circumspect given what the pronouncement means once we label these homicides the work of a serial killer, we don't want to overreach our mandate. We need to be sure."

"I agree," Booth said with an appreciative look at her.

"You do?" Brennan asked, the surprise clear in her voice.

"Absolutely," Booth nodded. "Which is why I have the boyfriend of the woman whom I'm fairly certain was the second victim being brought in for questioning as we speak, Bones." He gave her a small smirk. "Because, that's how we do things, remember? From now on, since I do think this is a serial killer at work, that's how we'll do things—by the book and strictly professional."

Nodding at him herself, Brennan said, "Alright then. So, which would you prefer—will you require my presence during the interview, or may I remain here to continue my examination of the remains?"

"You can sit this one out if you want to, Bones," Booth said evenly. "I was going to ask Sweets to observe anyway, so don't worry, I won't be by myself."

A small look briefly crossed Brennan's face. _Sweets? But, what about me? _

Not missing a beat, Booth asked, "Is that a problem, Bones?"

"No," she said, shaking her head. "It's fine. I assume you'll inform me of the interrogation's outcome?"

"Of course," Booth said, still not pleased when he knew that Brennan was holding back on him. _Come on, Bones. What is it now?_ "Whatever you want, Bones. And, of course, I'll call you. I always do. So, why wouldn't I let you know how things go?"

_Because, for some reason, it suddenly feels like you're using Sweets to replace me_, Brennan admitted miserably to herself. "I don't know, Booth," she finally said. "You'll call me later, though?"

"Of course," he nodded with a vague grin. "No problem."

"You're sure?" Brennan pressed him.

At her repeated question, Booth shot her a look. _Okay, what now? I already told you that'd I'd call you, so what's the big deal here, huh? _"Yeah, Bones. I'm sure." He paused before he added, "What, would it make you feel any better if I pinky-sweared?" He held his hand up and wagged his pinky in the air.

Brennan's frown deepened as she said, "That's not necessary as long as you make certain you keep me informed. You know I don't like being left out of the circle, Booth."

"'Loop.'" Booth shook his head in mild annoyance and then grunted in response to Brennan's last remark. "It's left out of the _loop_, Bones."

Waving him off dismissively, she said, "Whatever."

Booth opened his mouth to counter her comment when his cell phone rang in his pocket. Shooting Brennan a final look, Booth turned around, walking to the edge of the platform to take the call.

"Booth—" he answered the phone.

He listened for a few seconds, nodded silently, then pulled an index card and a pen from the pocket of his FBI jacket.

"Okay, right..." he said as he began to scribble.

Brennan, Cam, and Angela each watched him for a few moments while Zack and Hodgins debated a point about some non-fiber particulate trace found in the remains. After a little bit, each of the women self-consciously turned her attention back to the body on the slab.

Meanwhile, Booth wrote a few more notes on the card, tilting his head to hold the phone in place against his shoulder as he retrieved another note card from his pocket.

"Takoma Park—right," he said, murmuring something under his breath as the caller continued to speak. "Okay, fine. Just text me the address, and I'll pop it into the GPS."

Glancing at his watch, Booth nodded. "Yes, that's right—"

Looking up, he glanced back at the three women standing behind him who were trying not to eavesdrop and failing miserably. "Understood. Yeah...okay, will do...Uh-huh...Yup."

Booth's gaze lingered on his partner as he frowned and sighed. He realized that he had a decision to make. _I can't take Sweets with me on this one_—_aside from the fact that I'll want to kill myself if I'm stuck with him for God knows how many hours. I just...now is not the time to make the wrong choice, Booth._

"Okay, thanks." He took a deep breath. "Bye," he said, glancing at his watch once more.

Hanging up the phone, he hit the 'end' button, and hung up before he slid his phone into the hip pocket of his jeans. Noting that his conversation was complete, Brennan lifted her head and looked at him expectantly. However, when she didn't have the courage to come straight out and ask him what Booth knew she wanted to know anyway, he felt his annoyance flare.

"What?" he growled. He looked down at the notes he had scribbled on his index cards.

Brennan rolled her eyes at his tone. "Who was that?" she asked, shooting a glare at Angela whose narrowed eyes and slight shake of her head suggested that she disapproved of the wording of the query.

Booth looked up again from his notes and pulled his phone from his pocket as it beeped at him. Scrolling through a text message, Booth shared, "The FBI ran the basic description you squints gave us against the missing persons database," he said. "The lotus tattoo and approximate age and height matched the description of a Jennifer Barrington, 21-years old, a junior at University of Maryland College Park." He held up the notecard and squinted at his own writing as he tried to decipher a particularly illegible portion of writing. "Reported missing five weeks ago by her roommates. They're sending over a head and shoulders shot and a photo of the tattoo to confirm ID, but we're pretty sure it's her."

"So, that's my cue to get busy," Angela said, her countenance immediately changing. "It's being uploaded to the server?" she asked Booth.

"As we speak," he nodded.

"Okay," Angela said. "I'll take a look, and let you know what I find."

"Great," Booth said. "Thanks."

The artist gave Booth a nod before she turned around and headed in the direction of her office. She only stopped for a few seconds to shoot Brennan one last knowing look before she disappeared to work on the new information.

Cam, meanwhile, frowned as she looked at Booth and shook her head. "That's another one, isn't it? God, Booth. Maybe you're right. Maybe this is a serial case," she said.

"Well," Booth replied grimly. "Like I said, I did have a hunch—"

"And?" Cam pressed, knowing Booth well enough to know there was more that he wasn't telling her.

"Okay, I had the FBI run a check, cataloging all of Jennifer Barrington's credit/debit card charges in the 72 hours prior to when the missing persons' report was filed. I also requested the forensic accountants do the same thing with Melissa Lauda's financials just in case—" Booth explained.

Both Cam and Brennan stood there, listening intently as he spoke, but it was the pathologist who smiled as she said, "You got a hit, didn't you?"

Booth shrugged, smiled and nodded. "It was a bit of a shot in the dark, but I lucked out, because there was some overlap. The techs contacted the bars and restaurants on each 72-hour list, pulled the records of everyone who paid there by credit or debit card within the same two 72-hour periods, and checked to see if any names matched."

A vague smile crossed Booth's lips as he saw Brennan's eyebrows flash upwards as she suddenly realized what he and Cam already knew. He couldn't help but gloat a little on those rare occasions when the Bureau's capabilities impressed his exceedingly hard-to-impress partner.

"They got a match," he said. "One Mark Robinson of Takoma Park, Maryland. He's got a couple of minor priors, nothing significant, but we're gonna stake him out tonight." With a shrug, he pocketed his notes and reached down to zip up his jacket.

"Wait," Brennan suddenly said, no longer remaining quiet. "Where are you going?" she asked with a furrowed brow as Booth suddenly turned to move off the platform, and she realized with a flare of anxiety in her stomach, right past her—and, most likely, straight out the door.

"Weren't you listening?" he asked her. "I just told you, Bones. I've got an interview to do at the Hoover and a stakeout tonight. So, that means that I've got stuff to do, Bones. People to see, places to go, things to do."

"But, wait," she squeaked, the disappointment evident in her voice. "What about me?"

"Hmmm?" he said. "I thought you just told me you wanted to stay in the lab to finish examining the remains?" _Isn't that what you want, Bones? Because, I'm not gonna make the offer if I have to listen to how you think it's some grand conspiracy I've made to control your entire life_—

"Well, yes, but that was when I thought you were just going to interview a mere person of interest, not go on a stakeout," Brennan said. "You aren't taking Sweets...are you?" she asked, her voice becoming small on the last word.

"On the stakeout?" Booth clarified.

Brennan nodded.

"Naaaw," Booth said. "He doesn't belong there."

_And, me, Booth? What about me? Where do I belong? _Brennan thought to herself, but allowed the very pertinent questions to remain unanswered. Instead. she managed only a single-word reply. "Oh," she said, looking away.

"Bones—" Booth said, sensing her unhappiness. "You can't blame me for taking you at your word, Bones," Booth said simply. "You just said you wanted to stay here."

"Only because I asked you where I could be the most useful," Brennan said, suddenly looking up.

"Fine," Booth said, suddenly feeling the need to offer her an olive branch, some type of proof that her worst fear of him was unfounded. _I'm not trying to control you, and I'm not trying to replace you, Bones. _"Is this your way of saying that you want to come with me?"

"Are you telling me I can't come?" Brennan countered instantly.

At her words, Booth leveled a stare at her. "I don't know, Bones? Am I?" He stopped and then added, "Can you?"

She looked at him for several seconds, not missing the unintentional bit of sexual innuendo that had suddenly crept back into their exchange, despite the best efforts of both of them to keep it 'strictly professional.' Finally, she slowly nodded as she said, "If I want to, I can," Brennan told her partner. _But, you already know that, don't you?_

"Okay, Bones," Booth said. "You still didn't answer my question there. Do you want to come with me on the stakeout? Because, I gotta admit that I just figured you'd had enough of this crap for one day. I mean, you put in your ninety minutes at the crime scene this morning and then you punched out and flew the coop." He glared at her with a lazy, unimpressed expression. _But, if you come with me tonight, you can't do that shit anymore. A stakeout isn't a crime scene evaluation. It's extremely important that we follow protocol and behave __exactly__ like we're supposed to so that we don't miss anything, Bones. We have to pay attention_—_keep our heads down and our eyes open because every little detail is crucial. So. when I say that it's beyond important to keep things strictly professional on a stakeout, I mean it. We can't fool around_—

"Punch out?" Brennan blurted out suddenly. Booth arched an eyebrow at the pitch of her voice, and she immediately lowered it as she added, "But, I didn't actually hit anyone."

_Always so literal. _Booth took a breath and exhaled deeply. "You really want to come?" _Is it really that big a deal to you?_

_You're the one who said that you're not trying to control me. So, you know I'm all about evidence, Booth. Prove it. Show me that you aren't trying to control me. Let me make my own choices. _Nodding her head slowly, Brennan said, "Yes."

The pleading look in her eyes was finally what did Booth in as he silently chastised himself. _God, please don't let this be a return of the co-dependent bitch. Please let me have made the right choice. _"Fine," Booth said. "If you want to come, you can come. It's up to you."

"I want to go with you," Brennan said instantaneously. "If...if I can."

Nodding at her, Booth said, "Go get your stuff, then. But, don't dilly dally. We're already late as it is." He glanced at his watch again and sighed.

Flashing a smile of gratitude at him that was so brief in duration that it made Booth forget a bit of her former ire at him even if he was the only one to see it, Brennan moved past both he and Cam, almost jogging down the platform steps. And, for a split second, as he watched her disappear into her office to grab her bag, Booth thought that maybe, just maybe, he had made the right choice after all.

Glancing up at the glass windows of the lab, it was Cam who finally noticed that the early summer weather was threatening to make good on its promise of delivering a dose of much needed rain to the very parched D.C. area. While the spring had been very pretty and quite comfortable—from a balmy temperature perspective—vegetable and flower gardens, private lawns, and just about every tree and shrub in the metro area had been parched due to the record number of days that they'd gone without so much as a single drop of water. However, the three days of intermittent drizzling had finally brought an end to the District's record streak of rainless days and bringing them more into sync with the nearby areas in Maryland and Virginia that had not dodged the rain bands as the metro area apparently had done so. Now that the teasing drizzle was _finally _over, the forecasters assured area weather-watchers that tonight was the night it was really going to pour.

Calling out to Booth, Cam said, "I know most of the night that you've got in store for yourself is going to be nothing more than sitting on your ass on the government's nickel waiting for your POI, Seeley, but just to be on the safe side, you probably want to make sure you take an umbrella with you. In all likelihood, you won't need it, but it's better to be safe than sorry."

Booth shrugged. "Hey, Cam, you know me. I'm like the Boy Scouts. I'm _always _prepared for _everything_, so, I'm about three steps ahead of you already since I've already got one in the car—"

"That beat up old piece of crap that you've had in the backseat of the SUV doesn't count, Seeley," Cam said wryly. "The last time you tried to use that to get me into the Federal Courthouse, I not only got wet, but I almost got my eye poked out because it should have been put out to pasture a long time ago," Cam told him with a nod.

Booth scowled at her words.

In turn, Cam grinned at his reaction and tilted her head as she asked, "Why not go see if Dr. Brennan has one? I bet she does."

"I'm good, Camille," Booth insisted. "But, thanks."

Cam narrowed her eyebrows at him, and then sighed. _God, I know I should know better, but sometimes I forget how immensely annoying his stubbornness can be. _"Can't say I didn't warn you, Seeley."

"Duly noted, Camille," Booth said as he stuck his hands in his pockets and glanced around in anticipation of Brennan's return. Although she hadn't been gone for longer than a minute or two, Booth was anxious to get on the road. Stakeouts always gave him a bit of nervous energy—a throwback to his Army days when he would go out on a sniper/recon mission and reacted the same way, Booth thought. Cool as a cucumber during the mission, both before and after were when Booth showed the greatest emotional response to his impending situation.

And, then, Booth suddenly realized that he was mentally fortifying himself for some type of strategic situation that would test his offensive and/or defensive capabilities. _Why am I even_—_?_ Booth began to think to himself, and then his conscious mind caught up with his unconscious mind as he recalled Brennan's earlier words, and they rang in Booth's head: '_This conversation is not finished.' _Booth winced as he recalled them with it very clear in his mind that Brennan was _not _the type of woman who just let things go. _Nope, she just doesn't do that. It's not Bones' style. Never has been, probably never will be_—_even if sometimes if would really make both of our lives a whole hell of a lot easier if she could just learn to ease up a bit and let go. _Starting to second-guess himself, instead of waiting for Brennan to return to the platform, Booth eventually ambled in the direction of her office, not caring that Cam watched him for several very long seconds before she returned her full attention back to Jennifer Barrington's remains.

Reaching the door to Brennan's office, Booth leaned against the frame as he watched her haphazardly tossing various items into her very familiar, well-worn, well-loved, and well-known canvas messenger bag. He watched in amusement as he saw Brennan rummage through several of her desk drawers, and randomly began to pull things out and toss them into her canvas bag—everything from a flashlight to a medium-sized package of trail mix and a smaller packet of beef jerky to several permanent markers.

Brennan's eyes suddenly snapped up to the doorway, and she felt her heart fall into her stomach as she saw the serious gaze on Booth's face as he was watching her. Brennan began to think the worst as he studied her for a few seconds, saying nothing. _Oh, God. He's changed his mind. What happened? Why...why did he just tell me I could go with him if now he's coming in here to tell me that I can't accompany him...unless I was wrong, and this is all about him manipulating me? Shit. Shit, shit, shit_—

Carefully, Brennan chose her words as she lifted her bag off the desk and nodded at him. "I'm ready, Booth." _Please let me be wrong. Maybe I'm just being too pessimistic. Oh, please let me be wrong_—

"Yeah," Booth nodded at her. "About that, Bones—"

"Oh, no," Brennan said, finally voicing some of the lingering doubts that were reasserting themselves with a vengeance in her head. "Please don't, Booth."

_Huh? _A bit of confusion washing over him at her words, Booth asked, "Don't what, Bones?" _Oh, man. Not now. Please don't let this be the start of another mood swing. God_—

"Would it make any difference if I promise not to space out?" Brennan asked, a bit of wide-eyed simplicity creeping over her face as if she almost seemed to be pleading with him. "Because, I will, Booth. I give you my word that I won't space out if you let me come with you—"

_Space out_? Booth thought. _Since when does Bones space out at all? Me, yeah. Sure. Sometimes. But, Bones? She lives for thinking and observing data_._ This doesn't make any sense._

"So, uh, were you planning on spacing out at some point there, Bones, or what?" Booth asked. "Because, I gotta tell you, I sure as hell don't know what you're talking about—"

"At the crime scene today. Earlier, you told me I spaced out," Brennan explained. "I promise I won't do it again..."

_Oh. _Suddenly, it was clear to Booth what Brennan actually meant. "Oh," he couldn't help himself as he chuckled. "That's 'spazz' out, Bones. Not space out. 'Spazz' out. You _spazzed _out at the crime scene today."

"Either way," Brennan said, "If I promise not to do it again tonight, will you—?"

Her voice trailed off, and suddenly Booth knew that the uncertainty that was cracking through Brennan's normal facade was something he hadn't seen in almost a week—the first clear and irrefutable tell-tale signs of vulnerability. _Now, where in the hell did that come from? _Booth thought to himself. Inclining his head at her, he asked, "Well, that would be great if you didn't do that again tonight, Bones, but why do you think you need to promise me like you're some school girl that's been sent to the principal's office for misbehaving or something?" Suddenly, the image of Brennan in a Catholic school uniform popped into his head. _Now, cut that the fuck out_, a loud voice harangued him. _She's your partner. We're keeping it strictly professional, remember? The stakeout's too important. You can't mess around, and so it has to be completely by the book_—

Looking up at him, Brennan said, "I, ahhhh_, _thought you might've come in here because you changed your mind about letting me come with you on the stakeout, Booth."

"Oh," Booth said, quickly shaking his head and waving his hand. "Uh, no, Bones. I didn't come in here to do that. I already told you you could come, if you wanted to—" He looked at her to confirm what the question he'd left lingering in the air had asked.

"I do," Brennan said. "If...if I still can, I do. I want to come—"

"So, umm, yeah—" _God, what I'd like to do to make you come again_, said the sly, wicked voice in the back of Booth's head, and for some reason, Booth wondered when it had started talking again. Pursing his lips, the louder part of Booth's brain barked, _knock it off! _Then, turning to Brennan, he considered how to reassure the slightly nervous and panicked look he saw on her face. _I hate that look_, Booth thought. _I hate seeing her like that, so... unsure. It's just not right. It's not Bones at all. _He stopped, and Booth knew in that moment he could have said a thousand different things, but ultimately decided to stick with one of the most boring—and, by default, _safe_— responses he could've chosen to respond with as he said, "Cam said it's going to start raining, and she wanted me to remind you to bring an umbrella if you've got one in your magic rucksack there."

Brennan had to stop herself from letting out a huge sigh of relief as another voice popped up and gently, but firmly chastised her. _Now, what in the hell was that about, Brennan? This would've been the perfect time for you and Booth to clear the air, once and for all, and finish that conversation. _Looking up at Booth, Brennan held his dark brown eyes for a moment as she thought_ Later. _Then, she nodded at Booth, "I don't have one here with me right now, but I have one in my car that I can grab if you want, Booth."

Shrugging his shoulders, Booth said, "I doubt we'll even need it, Bones. Cam just wanted me to ask as a precaution I think. So, we're probably good if you're ready to go?"

Nodding, Brennan adjusted the strap of the messenger bag on her shoulder. Walking towards Booth and out her office door, she felt Booth fall into close step behind her. As they walked out the lab's main entrance, Booth asked, "Hey, Bones?"

"Yes, Booth?" Brennan replied as they kept walking towards the parking garage where his Tahoe was parked.

"So, _ummm, _just for curiosity's sake and all...the flash light, the trailmix and jerky, I get—but, the Sharpie markers? What's up with that?" Booth asked.

Laughing for the first true and genuine time in days, and definitely for the first time in Booth's presence in what seemed like a long while, Brennan began to explain.

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><p><strong>-TBC-<strong>

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><p><strong>AN2**: And, with that, six chapters now remain in this story. Our rough/tentative plan is to wrap this story up by Christmas. As has been hinted at some of you, chapter 15 begins what many of you've been waiting for... Booth, Brennan, in an SUV late at night, during a rainstorm. What do you think comes next? Probably nothing interesting, right? _Riiiigggght. _Then, of course, there's still that little pesky suspect that's a potential serial killer on the loose. You didn't think we'd forgotten about _that _now, did you? So, if you want to see the first cracks in the re-breaking of that thing, you know what to do—click that little 'review' below and leave us a note to spur us on in our sharing of some _particularly _scorching chapters. That's not _too _much of a tease, right? Nope, I didn't think so either. ::evil grin:: Until then...~


	5. Ch 15: Defending Against the Power

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.

**A/N:** Same as last time...at the request of my fearless compatriot, the indomitable **dharmamonkey** most introductory material has been removed from the beginning of this chapter. If you wish to see summaries, warnings, etc. please see one of the earlier chapters where you may view them in all their witty glory. However, at my insistence, just to be safe rather than sorry as you never know when the random rude commenter may come out of the woodwork, here is where I repeat my standard spiel by mentioning that constructive criticism is still both welcome and encouraged, but irritatingly obtuse comments that complain, or have nothing meaningful to contribute are ignored...so, save both your time and ours and just don't.

I would also like to add that this chapter is probably the longest (word count-wise) that we've posted in either CS or CD...because we're just wordy like that. Somehow, given the topic of this chapter, neither the monkey nor I think anyone will probably complain about the verbosity. Now, without further adieu, as promised, we hope you're in a place where a cold shower is handy because, after you've read this chapter, if you don't need one, then we really haven't done our jobs right. Here we go...~

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><p><strong>Chapter 15 - Defending Against the Power Play<strong>

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><p>It was a quarter to nine when Booth pulled the Tahoe into the dark, brick-paved alley behind the Italian deli that lay caddy-corner to the apartment building where Mark Robinson lived. The alley was typical of those in this part of the DC suburbs. Technically located in Maryland, Takoma Park was once known as Azalea City back when the charm of its 1890s founding hadn't been eroded by decades of DC commuters traveling back and forth from the town. True, in the 1960s, civil rights advocates had banded together to keep new expressways from crisscrossing in and out of Takoma Park and linking it back to DC in some strange concrete impersonation of the human body's circulatory system. For a time, the town had even blossomed in the late 1960s and early 1970s, gaining such a reputation as a base for civic activism that it was informally known as "The Berkeley of the East." However, as time does to all things, 'Tacky Park' had mellowed in its old age, and a slew of late 1990s and early 2000s gentrification projects had culminated in the brownstone conversion of the building Booth and Brennan could now clearly view as they looked at Robinson's apartments. The building itself was quite pretty, in an old and historical way. The red and brown brick work had faded over time, and the once bright white mortar had dulled with age, while the wrought iron grillwork had rusted here and there giving the building what most realtors termed as 'character' as a way to explain why property values were much higher than they should be in such a renter'sbuyer's market.

Its architectural feel perhaps having bled away, the apartment building's essence seemed to have imbued the alley in which Booth had parked with an atmosphere similar in type and feel to the converted brownstone. It was dark, dirty, and pervaded with—what Booth was quite certain of if he'd been foolish enough to open the SUV's windows—a damp and grimy smell that hung in the air particularly on days like today when rain threatened to fall. However, the alley was also fairly wide, something that was not necessarily always an easy thing to find when one hoped to conceal, or at least somewhat downplay, the presence of a government-issue vehicle in a specific area. In such a neighborhood, there was no way to camouflage Booth's SUV for anything else besides exactly what it was, as the Tahoe stuck out like a sore thumb in streets lined with smaller and more maneuverable parked cars that usually jetted and zoomed along the winding roads of DC and its environs. And so the dark alley was a good one for the purpose it actually served—giving Booth and Brennan a vantage point from which they could wait and watch for their suspect without necessarily tipping off everyone in a ten-block radius that a law enforcement vehicle was parked in front of the building on "official government business."

Glancing at the dashboard clock, Booth tilted his head to look up at the apartment building. He counted the number of windows from the left to make certain the tell-tale third floor unit still remained dark. One of the techs assigned to his field detail had done some research, and a few calls, later, he had been informed that Robinson's shift at the local FedEx distribution center ended at nine. So, now he had gotten into position and waited for the call from the surveillance team outside the FedEx facility informing him that his subject was en route. One never knew how things could go on a night like this one, since there were so many variables—the rain and Booth's own restlessness being just two of the more prominent ones that currently distracted him. However, for the most part, it would seem to be a fairly standard operation as long as nothing out of the ordinary happened to surprise him and catch him off guard. All he and Brennan had to do was keep alert, keep calm, watch, and wait.

_Now the real question is_, Booth thought, _how many of those things is it really realistic to think that we can achieve before the night is done? _He paused, thought about it a bit more, and then shook his head, all the while a single thought going through his mind that reminded him of Han Solo's line: _I've got a really bad feeling about this..._

During the entire drive from the lab to Tacky Park, Brennan had been unusually silent. The brief interview of Jennifer Barrington's boyfriend had proven inconclusive. Sweets had agreed with what Booth's initial gut assessment of the guy had been—Jake Miller had been concerned that his girlfriend had gone missing and seemed genuinely upset when they informed him that she was possibly the victim currently on the platform examination slab in the Jeffersonian Medico-Legal lab. However, his record was squeaky clean—the twenty-three year old hadn't been tagged by UMCP's campus police for so much as a parking ticket, never mind anything suggesting that he was capable of violence. Through it all, Brennan hadn't offered so much as a word of observation beyond a minute shake of her head when Booth asked her if she had anything to add, and later, a nod when he asked if she was okay.

The subtle change in Brennan's mood had been surprising to Booth, if only slightly. At first, when they had walked from the lab to the parking garage, she'd appeared to have been somewhat upbeat and in a rather jovial mood, even if her verbiage was a bit more understated than usual. It almost seemed as if Brennan was carefully considering and testing each word in her mind before she spoke it during the extremely casual conversation they had been having about the utility of always having enough Sharpie markers around that actually had enough ink in them to be able to write legibly.

After Brennan had given Booth a thorough, if long-winded answer to his question, they had then turned to a brief discussion of the stakeout that would proceed after they interrogated Jennifer Barrington's boyfriend. Booth's prior optimism had grown a bit when she told him the reason she brought the bags of trail mix and beef jerky was so that they would have snacks in case they got hungry if the stakeout went overlong—twigs and berries, or 'healthy crap' as he termed it, for her, and a _real _snack of unhealthy, high sodium processed food for him if/when he got the usual attack of the mid-stakeout munchies. When Booth opened his mouth to reassure her that he didn't think the stakeout would be anything out of the ordinary, Brennan shook her head, reminding him of the vow she'd made that one time that one of their stakeouts in Cherry Hill had gone on for over thirteen hours. Recalling the absurdity of _that _particular stakeout, he didn't think that tonight's sojourn in Tacky Park would be able to compare to Cherry Hill in any way, shape, or form, but he held his tongue.

Later, once they had pulled away from the Hoover's parking garage after the interview with Jake Miller, Sweets having stalked away in a sulking funk when he learned where the partners were going and he wasn't invited, Brennan had become unusually pensive. If Booth didn't know any better, he would say she was obsessively thinking about something. But, if she didn't want to volunteer it, he knew better than to ask her about it and press the issue since she'd kept her promise to not spazz out. To be honest with himself, Booth just didn't want to press his luck, miscalculate, and then have to deal with any more bullshit at the moment. So, if Brennan was okay with the silence between them, so was he—and that was how they ended up listening to the last two periods of the Capitals versus Lightning game on WFED.

A half hour went by, then an hour, with the only signs that time had passed being the Lightning completely decimating the Capitals 6 to 2 and Booth's cell phone beeping at him that it had finally finished recharging. Another hour eventually passed, with Booth growing tired of the sports commentators repeating the same four or five stories with their own analysis of the news' significance that hadn't been _that _witty the first two times he heard it—let alone by the third or fourth time it cycled through over the radio. His back was also starting to twitch a bit from him having sat stationary in the same position for such a long period of time, and Booth chastised himself for not tossing a bottle of Advil in the SUV since he should've been able to anticipate such a thing happening as he'd been on enough surveillance details to know how his back liked to respond to long bouts of inactivity and idleness.

Glancing over at Brennan, Booth thought about asking her if she had any medicine in her magic messenger bag o'tricks to try to launch a preemptive strike against his back's soreness. But, as Brennan continued to stare out the window, for some reason, Booth still didn't want to say anything to break the silence that had settled between them. Calm and quiet were better than stormy and chaotic. Instead, reaching down between his legs, Booth shifted in his seat as he adjusted the handle so that he had as much room as possible in which to spread out. Stretching out a bit, he placed his hands, fingers interlinked, behind his head, and emulated Brennan's posture as he stared out the window himself. With no call from the surveillance team outside the FedEx facility, and no signs of life behind the third-story window Booth knew to belong to Robinson, Booth resigned himself to the fact that there was only really one thing they could do...and that was to wait.

Eventually, a short time later, when Booth felt his hands starting to go numb at having been held in the same position for such a long period of time, a bit of impatience got the better of him. Sighing, he shifted in his seat again as he sat a bit straighter and finally spoke the first words that had passed between the partners in some time.

"Where the hell is this guy?" Booth grumbled as he checked his cell phone for the twentieth time since it had finished charging an hour earlier.

At his words, Brennan finally stopped looking out the window and turned to Booth. Noting how impatience seemed to be radiating off of him, she pursed her lips for a minute and then said quietly, "Most likely somewhere en route between his place of employment and his domicile." She paused and then added, "Perhaps he hasn't returned home yet because he was waylaid when he ran a pertinent errand of some kind, such as stopping by the grocery store, bank, or gas station."

"Either way," Booth said, shooting her an odd look—as those were the most words Brennan had spoken in several hours—as he shook his head. "I really wish he'd hurry up and get the hell wherever he's going so we can do our thing and get out of here—"

"Thing?" Brennan replied, looking over at him with a curious stare. "And, is that a technical descriptor of what we do, Booth? We do...'a thing'? Or, I'm sorry...that's not what you said, exactly, was it? You didn't say 'a thing'...you said 'our thing'?"

"Yeah, Bones," Booth said, arching an eyebrow as he glanced up at Robinson's darkened window. "Ya know, catching bad guys and whatnot. That's sorta always been 'our thing.' Don't you think so?"

"Certainly," Brennan replied with a small nod. "I just don't remember you ever being so impatient about how we did it in the past as long as it got done."

"I'm not being impatient," Booth immediately protested. "I just want to get on with getting on about things..."

At this, she bit back a snicker and looked at Booth with a slight shrug. A news blip on the radio chose that moment to draw his attention, and Brennan was quite glad his focus was diverted to give her a second to recover from her response to his prior statements. _Now, come on, Booth. I'm trying to keep up my end of the bargain and not space_—_err, no. Not 'space'_—_what was it? Damn it. It doesn't matter. But, what does matter is I can't understand why you're acting so impatient, Booth. Is it because you'd very much enjoy being able to 'get it on' with whoever is waiting for you, is it?_

Brennan felt a knot in the pit of her stomach tighten. In the past week, Booth hadn't mentioned the fact that he'd been seeing anyone but her. _And, face it, Brennan_—_that's what's been going on for the past week, at least in some fashion, whether you want to admit it or not_, a voice in her head told her. _Then, if he's seeing me, he'd tell me if there was someone else in the picture, right? _a smaller and substantially more insecure voice echoed in her mind. _I mean, for him, it's obviously casual. There's no formal agreement that's been established between us, no social contract created that formally binds us, but given all the personal conversations we've had this week, it stands to reason that it would've come up if he was dating another woman in a more formal arrangement, right? But, what else could make him so anxious to be away from here? It's not me_—_at least I don't think it's me, so that means he just has someplace else that he needs to be right now_—_or, wants to be, maybe?_ The thought echoed in her head, and she felt a flare of something aggressive wash over her again at the thought of Booth and—_the Slitch! _a very catty voice in Brennan's mind suddenly chose that particular moment at which to chime in with her jealous and petty witticisms. _Okay, maybe not the Slitch since_—_how did Booth put it earlier? He keeps his professional life professional and his personal life private? _Brennan paused for a few seconds and then looked down at the floor of the SUV with the hope that Booth wouldn't be able to see the flash of agitation she felt at recalling his statement at the Greenbelt crime scene after she'd nearly gotten into a physical altercation with Agent Walters.

_What a bunch of bullshit, _she complained to herself._ Okay, so maybe it's not Walters, but I know it_—_he's probably got some date with some stupid blonde, and that's why he's been able to deal with everything that's happened between us this past week. He's been getting laid on a regular basis, and meanwhile, because I'm a stupid, stupid individual, I've been going up the proverbial wall over how I feel...how he's made me feel. Son-of-a-bitch!_ _God, maybe the man finally has done it, all kidding aside. Maybe he finally has made me crazy. Is this what it feels like? Is this how it starts when one begins to go mad? Because, if it is, I totally can see it having finally happened to me, and all because of Booth. Fuck! _Flexing her fists a bit, Brennan took an even breath as she pushed the wave of frustrated anger away and tried to calm herself. _Come on, Brennan, _the more balanced and even voice in Brennan's brain said _You did promise Booth that you wouldn't spazz out. Right? 'Spazz out'. Remember? That's it. You did promise Booth that you wouldn't spazz out again, so get a grip, Brennan._

However, realizing that she couldn't quite help herself as a more base voice reminded her that there had to be _some _reason why Booth was in a rush, and she very much wanted to know what it was, she turned her head to look back at him. Arching an eyebrow, Brennan asked, "So, you're only in a hurry to complete our current task because you're not very accepting of the unanticipated delays?"

"Well, yeah," Booth admitted with a faint nod. _What does that even mean? _"Sure." _What the hell is she talking about? Is she being more squinty and oblique than usual this evening, or am I really tired?_

"You know, Booth," Brennan said slyly. "A common definition of 'impatient' is 'restlessness in desire or anticipation'...or a refusal to accept unanticipated delays." She glanced up at the subject's apartment window and back to her partner. "Ergo, by your own admission, I find it hard to imagine how you possibly managed to endure being a sniper when you are obviously so.. impatient," she observed with a slight grin.

Knowing that he'd been bested, Booth pointed a finger at Brennan and said, "And, you know, Bones, I find it hard to imagine how I possibly thought it was a good idea to bring you on this stakeout tonight." He shook his head and rolled his eyes. _Did I make a mistake here? _he wondered.

"But, back at the lab, I thought you told me the choice was mine," Brennan said in a quieter voice that drew Booth's attention immediately.

Looking over at her, he nodded, "It was—it is, Bones. I just—look, I'm just tired and going a little stir-crazy sitting here cooped up in the car, okay?"

As Booth looked into her eyes, he immediately sensed the shift in her mood: Brennan was apparently done being silent and wanted—well, he wasn't sure what she wanted. The only thing he knew for certain was that he seemed, as had become the usual over the past week, to be getting mixed signals from her. Holding her gaze for several seconds, at various times he thought he saw a swirl of various emotions in her eyes. But, at last, the only thing that Booth could saying with any certainty was that there appeared to be a definite interest in _him_ on her part. _What, am I your new ball of yarn, Bones? _Booth asked her silently. He continued to stare at her, but the harder he looked, the less he felt he'd be able to find an answer—_any _answer to his question. He thought for a minute and tried to see if he could sense any sign of anger or hostility in Brennan's tone. There was only one second when he thought that for a split second, _might've _just heard a strong touch of emotion in her voice. But, as he had seen it, it quickly disappeared to be replaced by the relatively non-descript look that now graced her face. Willing to admit that maybe his fatigue was causing him to see or hear things, Booth decided that maybe he'd been mistaken.

_Yeah, I mean, I'm just tired. She's fine. This isn't_—_she's not, I mean...she's not going to start again, right? Because, she did promise. And she's usually holds to her promises, _he noted. _She apologized and promised not to spazz out again, so she just wouldn't. _Booth felt his jaw muscle tighten just thinking about their confrontation at Greenbelt Park that morning, their prolonged and emotionally exhausting argument of doublespeak on the Jeffersonian's forensic platform that afternoon, and then final conversation in her office where she'd apologized before they'd left for the Miller interrogation and the stakeout.

_Sure, she's run the gamut today from crazy to bitchy to downright friendly...well, friendly for Bones. I mean, she did bring me pie. That's a first. God, she's been just so wonky lately. I never knew that the idea of her thinking she was being controlled was such a sore point with her. I mean, I get she has the independence thing down to a T, but really. There's no reason for her to feel like that, and she's gotta know that right? Right? She must, since she seems fine now, and even if she's been a little quiet, she's been fine since we left the lab. Besides, she __did__ promise. She won't...she just won't...or, will she? _He looked at her out of the corner of his eye and then turned away, bringing his eyes back once more to the clock on the dashboard. _Because, if she does, I don't think I can't take much more of this without ringing her neck or trying to see if I can get from the dugout, past the on deck circle, and back into the batter's box with her again in about five seconds flat. And, then, I'm not quite sure what'll happen. Either we'll both find out what it's like to have another go and I'll friggin' launch one out over the left-field wall or she'll break one of my bones, but it might be worth it in either case, because I wasn't lying when I said I'm getting a bit antsy here. _

_God, what's she done to me..._

Brennan sat quiet for a moment as she watched Booth mentally working through some issue of his own. Finally, when they both were looking at each other with their complete and full attention, having considered Booth's words and nodded slightly as she said, "Yeah, it's not a problem, Booth." She then added with narrowed eyes, "I'm just glad I'm not the only one who's going a bit crazy, right?"

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Brennan saw another strange look fall over Booth's face. It was the first reference that either one of them had made about their earlier half-spoken/half-unspoken tennis match at the lab that afternoon. She immediately felt better when she saw his own countenance falter for a moment. For some strange and inexplicable reason, she was quite happy with his response because she viewed his being knocked off kilter as a sign that perhaps he wasn't as impervious to her effects as she'd earlier thought. _Maybe I can get to you, after all, huh, Booth? Maybe I just was taking the wrong tack. _As considered the idea, she smiled a very licentious smile.

Her tone having already confused him, when Booth saw her smile, it bewildered him. _Why is she giving me that Cheshire cat grin? _he asked himself. _How can she?—I just don't get it. It doesn't make any sense. She doesn't make any goddamn sense. I just_—_what's her problem? What now?_

Letting his thoughts trail off, Booth saw that she was still smiling at him with that enigmatic smile of hers, and finally, he merely grunted his acknowledgement of her concession. Brennan inclined her head at him, but remained quiet, seemingly preferring silence once more to actually conversing with him. Her eyes returned to dart out the passenger's side window as the rain that had been threatening for several hours finally began to fall in a light drizzle. Reaching over, Booth flicked on the button that switched off the radio and turned on the SUV's CD player. Booth knew that he still had Pink Floyd queued up from earlier in the week, and by letting the music play, he hoped to fill the silence with something other than the sound of her breathing, any further talking, or, worst of all, the sound of the voice inside his head trying to make sense of any more of the madness that was Temperance Brennan.

After the low hum of the CD player indicated that the laser was reading the disc, a few seconds passed before Booth heard David Gilmour's low voice rumble through the speakers. A smile broke across his face as he listened to the first few seconds of the song, which picked up in the middle of a guitar solo. His head beginning to move in rhythm with the first strands of the song that came up thanks to the stereo's shuffle setting, he nodded approvingly.

_And he talks to the river of lost love and dedication  
>And silent replies that swirl invitation<br>Flow dark and troubled to an oily sea  
>A grim intimation of what is to be<em>

At the sound of his movement, Brennan had turned her head just enough to look at Booth when he flicked on the stereo out of the corner of her eye. When she saw him close his eyes and saw his head begin to bounce in movement with the music, she fully turned around and watched in fascination for a few seconds. Eventually, curiosity got the better of her as she interrupted the flow of the music with a question. "What is this that's playing on the stereo, Booth?" Brennan asked. Booth opened his eyes as he looked at her, but was still bobbing his head up and down in sync with the song's bass line as he mouthed the words.

_There's an unceasing wind that blows through this night  
>And there's dust in my eyes, that blinds my sight<br>And silence that speaks so much louder that words,  
>Of promises broken...<em>

After a beat, Booth replied, "It's Pink Floyd, Bones." _Of course, she doesn't know Floyd,_ he said to himself with a mental sigh. _They never had a Best of Tribal Deep Throat Chants compilation, so, of course, she doesn't know about them. Sad. So friggin' sad. _

Brennan watched Booth for a second, and then said, "I know this is a stupid question, but I think I've heard that name before—maybe when you mentioned it?"

"Probably," Booth said with a shrug. "They're one of my favorite bands."

"And, err, they're popular?" Brennan asked. "I mean, before when I said that it was a stupid question, that second inquiry was actually the one I felt foolish asking, not the one about if I'd perhaps heard you mention them before—"

Narrowing his eyes at her, Booth looked at Brennan with a suspicious glint in his eyes. _God, she's trying. I'll give her that much_, he thought. _I just wish I knew why she's as strung out as she's been all week. I mean, I get it...the emotional stuff is a lot to deal with, but I know there's more to it than that. I just know it, but I can't figure out what the hell it is exactly_—

Finally, Booth nodded and told her, "This song is from their 1987 album _A_ _Momentary Lapse of Reason_. It's a great freakin' album, by the way. Classic."

"_A_ _Momentary Lapse of Reason?_" she repeated. "Huh." _What kind of album name is that?_ she asked herself. _And why, tonight of all nights, must he play such a thing? Again the music mocks me... no, not just me. Us. It mus mocks __us__,_ she told herself as she frowned.

Booth's words had trailed off, and Brennan wasn't certain what to say, and so the pair continued sitting in silence but for the melodic tones of Booth's Floyd CD. After the fifth song had finished and neither one had said anything, Booth glanced at the clock and realized another half hour had passed without any sign of their POI.

Looking over at Brennan, he nodded. "I wonder if he changed shifts tonight," he mused aloud. "I mean, where is this guy? Even if he had a half dozen errands to run after work, from getting groceries to picking up a 'happy ending' in Chinatown, he still should've been here by now. It's late...way late. So, maybe...maybe he swapped shifts with somebody, and he's not coming home for hours yet. Because, I can't think of any other reason why we wouldn't have spotted him yet, unless he did switch shifts, and if he did switch shifts, _that_ would suck." He glanced at the clock on the dashboard for at least the fiftieth time—10:55, it blinked back at him, which he promptly confirmed by checking his cell phone, again—and sighed. "Yup, that would really, really suck."

"Why?" Brennan inquired, her voice more subdued than he expected.

"Because, Bones," he said. "If he changed shifts with someone else, that means we're on the clock until he shows up, and that could be a really long time from now."

"If you're hungry, I have that beef jerky I brought—" Brennan began to offer him, since she knew how cranky Booth could get when he was hungry.

Waving her off, he said, "Naaw, I'm good for right now—thanks, though."

Brennan nodded again. A few more minutes passed, and Booth began to get concerned about their visibility when the drizzle began to transition into a steadier downpour. _Damn_, he thought with a sigh. _I knew Camille was gonna jinx me as soon as she brought up the rain in the lab. Damn it. _Shaking his head, he finally looked over at Brennan and said, "Yeah—I bet he changed shifts because I'm sure one of the two surveillance teams would've spotted him leaving FedEx if he'd have left, since there's only one way out of there—it's a secure facility."

"So, what are we going to do, Booth?" she asked, fidgeting in her seat as she watched a pair of pedestrians run into the front door of Robinson's building as they tried to escape the rain.

Booth laughed softly. "Same plan, Bones," he replied with a raised eyebrow and a knowing smile. "We're going to sit here. We wait. We sit here, and we wait, and we watch because he could leave work any minute, and it's our job to be here when he finally shows up."

"Oh," Brennan said.

The pair were quiet for another couple of minutes before Booth interrupted that space of silence by leaning forward in his seat and began shrugging out of his FBI jacket.

_Oh, God,_ she thought. _Not the jacket._ His movements reminded her of the dream she'd had early that morning and the way he, or, rather his crisply-suited dream state alter ego, had slowly shrugged out of his pin-striped gabardine suit coat. Her thoughts quickly cascaded through a series of rather erotic images from her very vivid dream that morning as she watched Booth—the real one seated next to her—unbutton the sleeves of his dark blue shirt and roll them up. Thankfully, at some point in between their argument earlier that day at the crime scene and the stakeout, Booth had apparently abandoned his shoulder holster for the more common hip holster he traditionally favored. _Thank God for small favors_, Brennan grimaced.

Booth, quite curiously, saw Brennan watching him out of the corner of his eye. Looking over at her, he arched an eyebrow in query when he turned to his right and saw that she was staring at him as intently as he'd seen her examine bones in the lab. "What?" he said, rolling up his other sleeve. "I'm getting warm being all cooped up in here."

_With you,_ he thought, his nostrils flaring at the smell of her—the same mix of citrus, amber, and coconut that he'd come to associate with her since the afternoon, three and a half years earlier, that he first took notice of her scent as he stood next to her, leaning over the balcony railing at the old theater during the first days of the Gemma Arrington case.

"_What?_" he asked her again when Brennan still hadn't said anything and he became slightly unnerved by the way she was staring at him.

"Nothing," she muttered after a moment's pause, turning her gaze back to the entrance of the apartment building.

Booth shook his head and sighed, unsure if he had made a mistake in allowing her to come along with him on the stakeout, not because she was going to spazz out, but _this _time, maybe because _he _was the one that was going to freak out because of _her_. _I'm just tired, _Booth thought, trying to rationalize his fears. _It's been a long bitch of a day in more ways then one, and I was short on sleep to start things off, so yeah, I'm just tired. Exhausted, really. If...if I could just get a few minutes to recharge, then I know I'd be okay. I just need a power nap. Fifteen, twenty minutes max to recharge and face whatever I need to face tonight. But, how in the fuck can I do that? If she thinks I'm cutting out for fifteen minutes, I'll never hear the end of it. Unless...maybe...hmmm_—

"Hey, Bones?"

"Yes, Booth?"

He looked at her, rubbing his eyes as he noted the pleasantly square angle of her jawline. _She really is a gorgeous woman,_ he told himself. _Quit it,_ the voice in the back of his head suddenly hissed at him.

"Do you mind if I close my eyes for a few minutes?" he suddenly asked her, blurting out his question and abandoning all his more grandiose strategies for procuring a few minutes of shut eye due to his fatigue. _Sometimes simple is better_, Booth thought.

"Here?" she asked, her tone and the look on her face seeming to indicate that she was quite surprised by the idea. "Now? Right now? You want to go to sleep?"

"No," Booth answered immediately, shaking his head, and backpedaling a bit at her response. "I just...I didn't want you to freak out if you saw me sitting over here, and I wasn't paying as close attention to you as I normally do, okay?"

"_Riiiigggght_," Brennan said with a curt nod. _How can he be that calm? I knew it. He must not be bothered by me in the slightest if he's tired and can just fall asleep like that right not to me, and unlike most men, he doesn't even wait until we've had sex before he nods off. God, Booth!_ "Seriously?" she asked. "Come on, Booth. Be level with me."

"'Straight,' Bones," Booth sighed. "It's 'be straight with you,'" he corrected her.

"Fine, whatever," she replied with an annoyed glare. "Be straight with me, then," Brennan told him.

"I am," Booth nodded.

"Really?" she replied, clearly confused. "After that little mini-lecture you gave me about how it's our job to sit here and observe Robinson when he comes home from work, you're really going to insist that you just want to close your eyes for a few minutes...because why again? Because you wish to rest your _levator palpebrae superioris_ muscles so as not to incur muscle strain?"

"Huh?" Booth asked, clearly confused by her anatomical reference.

"Eyelid," Brennan muttered. "The _levator palpebrae superioris_ muscle controls your eyelid."

"Right," Booth said. "Well, whatever, Bones. But, look—I'm not going to sleep," he told her with a firm shake of his head. "I just want to rest my eyes for a few minutes—" Brennan shot him a look at his continued insistence of what they both knew to be at best a disingenuous description of what he really wanted, and probably more accurately, at worst, an outright lie. He responded to her look with a pleading sigh. "Look, Bones. I've been up since quarter after five, and I spent more than six straight hours at the crime scene before schlepping back to the lab this afternoon." He stopped and then added pointedly, "Being out in the field that much, and dealing with as much bullshit—" He gave her a slight look to make it clear that he wasn't just necessarily talking about the case as he spoke that last word. "Look, alright, I'm not gonna lie. It took a lot out of me, and so I'm kinda shredded, Bones. Now, I realize that's no excuse, and I also know that I need to be more on my game than I am right at the moment, so this is all I can think of to deal with the fact that a long day in the field was even longer than it should've been since I was out there for most of it working by myself since some people bolted from the scene after less than ninety minutes."

Booth knew as soon as he said the words that he'd probably taken his gripe a step too far by the look he saw come over his partner's face. He knew that if he hadn't been as tired as he was in that moment, he probably would never have let the backhanded comment at Brennan leaving him high and dry slip out of his mouth—there was too much of a chance that she might see it as him waving a red flag at her and charge forward. However, what was done was done, and Booth saw no point in wasting any more time over the matter, so, he waited to see if Brennan would go off or not, and he figured he'd go from there.

For her part, Brennan's eyes narrowed and her jaw hardened at his thinly veiled remark, but, remembering Angela's admonition—_Get your shit together, Brennan_—she wisely said nothing.

When she remained quiet, Booth was still slightly surprised that her calm countenance had held for as long as it had, but he took it as another positive sign. Swallowing back a yawn, he tilted his head at her as he asked, "So, would do you mind, Bones? Can you cut me some slack here and help me out or what?"

_Oh, I'd like to do something to help you out all right, Booth_, Brennan thought with an indecent impulse driving her unspoken offer. She refrained from looking over at him, because if she did, she knew she'd see the irksome buttons of his blue cotton shirt staring back at her. _Perhaps I can help you but ripping open your shirt and beginning an extensive deep tissue massage of your upper body muscle groups. Maybe I can show you that there's a thing or two that I can do with my tongue that I know makes you scream since you seem to have forgotten that little bit since you're obviously so bored and at ease here that you just want to go to sleep next to me. You're such a typical male sometimes. _Brennan stopped and sighed at her thoughts. _But, somehow I don't think that's to what you're referring when you asked me that question. _

"What do you want me to do, Booth?" Brennan sighed, her jaw slightly tense as she bit back the temptation to imagine all of his potentially lurid responses to that query.

"Do you mind, you know, keeping your eyes peeled?" he asked. "I'm not going to sleep, honestly—I'm just going to close my eyes and rest for a few minutes. I promise. It'll restore my focus. Of course, if you see anything, wake—_uhhhh, _just shake me or something, and we'll be good to go, I swear."

"_Huuuumppphh," _she grunted in reply as she finally looked over at him. For the first time, Brennan stared at Booth from a perspective beyond that of the professional or sexual considerations from which she'd been analyzing him for most of the day. Now that she actually looked at him, she knew Booth was not only right, but he was more exhausted than he was willing to let on, even with his highly unusual request. His eyes had dark circles around them, and the smudges seemed a bit more prominent against the contrast provided by the five o'clock shadow that covered his jawline. Feeling a pang of remorse and guilt—and, even though she wouldn't admit it to anyone, least of all herself, tenderness—Brennan nodded before she continued speaking her answer. "Fine, Booth. Go ahead and rest. I'll keep an eye out for Robinson."

"You sure?"

"Yes," she told him. "Just for a little bit, though."

"Fifteen minutes, tops," Booth agreed.

"Fifteen minutes," she nodded. "And, I'll wake you if I see anything suspicious," Brennan repeated in echo of his earlier offer.

Booth nodded. "Yup."

"Fine," Brennan said, sitting back in her seat as she crossed her arms.

"Great," Booth nodded. "That's great. Thanks, Bones."

Nodding at him, Brennan replied, "You're welcome, Booth—"

As she spoke, she was slightly taken aback when Booth yanked his blue shirt out of his jeans and began to unbutton it. Looking over at him with wide eyes, she raised her eyebrows as she said, "Wait. Just how comfortable do you plan on getting there, Booth?"

"I told you, Bones," he said as his nimble fingers plucked the buttons loose in a much more civilized manner than Brennan had pictured herself doing just a few moments earlier. "I'm hot, okay?"

_Yes, you certainly are,_ she thought to herself as a mental groan immediately followed the admission. When it became clear that Booth was not actually taking off his shirt, merely unbuttoning it to reveal one of his countless non-descript dark grey t-shirts underneath it, a part of Brennan was a little disappointed, but a larger part of her was relieved that she wouldn't be seeing any skin. _I don't know what I'd be able to do if __that__ happened, _she thought to herself. Looking over at him, she bit her bottom lip for a moment in a gesture that Booth didn't seem to notice, then finally asked, "Better?"

Nodding, Booth said with another yawn, "Yeah. Much. Thanks." He stopped, looked over at her with a vague grin, and then said, "So, you sure you're okay?"

_No, not really, _Brennan mentally replied. _I haven't been fine in the week since we had sex. _"Fine," she said sharply, with a bit more hardness in her voice than she'd intended. At that moment, some of the stereo's lyrics seemed to aggravate her even more than before, and she seized on the opportunity to get rid of at least one bothersome annoyance. "Hey, Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?" he murmured as he leaned back into his seat with a squirm and tried to get comfortable.

"One last thing before you go to slee—_err, _rest your eyes?" she asked.

Turning to look over at her, Booth asked, "What can I do for you, Bones?"

_So many things, _said a sly voice that Brennan quickly silenced in her mind. Instead, she merely replied, "Can you turn off the stereo please? I'd think it will help me to concentrate if I'm not distracted by the music."

Cocking an eyebrow at her, Booth reached over and hit the appropriate button, silencing the low melody of the music that had still been playing. "All Floyded-out already, Bones?" he grinned. "That cuts, it really does."

Brennan shrugged her shoulders, but said nothing.

"So, you're good then?" he asked once he saw her lean back into her seat and assume the watchful position of looking out the windshield towards Robinson's building.

"Yes," Brennan told him. _At least, as much as I can be right now given the current circumstances, _she thought to herself.

"Okie dokie, then," Booth said rubbing his hands together before he leaned back in his seat and again tried to get comfortable. "Just grunt or something if you need me."

_Sure, _Brennan thought. _No problem on that one_, _Booth. _She stared at him only for a second or two before forcing herself to look back at the apartment building. However, as she squinted through the increasingly strong downpour that fell sideways against the SUV's windshield, Brennan wondered how much she'd actually be able to see if the storm got much worse.

After a few minutes of watching through the rain-pelted window, Brennan continued to sit rigidly still in her seat. Booth's earlier words, the ones he had so unceremoniously snapped at her, echoed in her mind. She immediately felt a new wave of guilt wash over her as the pair sat in silence, he with his head leaned slightly back with his eyes closed and she next to him in the passenger seat, focusing her attentions on the steps in front of Robinson's apartment building. Despite his claim that he was merely going to rest his eyes—_whatever that meant,_ Brennan thought to herself—at some point, it seemed that the demands of the day's hellacious schedule had caught up with Booth as she thought they'd eventually would. His head leaned back against the headrest and his mouth gaped slightly open, and as far as Brennan could tell, he seemed to have started to doze off amid the auditory monotony caused by the rain tapping against the SUV's roof and windows. She glanced at him, and a immediately felt a flash of indignant frustration at his zen-like composure that seemed to mock her.

_I don't understand this_—_nothing. Not any of it. I mean, I understand that he's tired, but how can he be so...how can he just fall asleep like that? I don't care how tired I am right now. I know if our positions were reversed, there's no way I could just go to sleep like that knowing that I was sitting next to him. There's just too much to think about, and none of it makes any fucking sense to me. But, apparently it does to him, because he's figured out some goddamn way to be so calm about everything. And, he's been that way all week. How can he do that...be so calm about this_—_unaffected even? _Brennan began to let her mind wander back to the crux of the issue that had vexed her all day—or, truth to be told, for an entire week. _How can he be as relaxed as if nothing's happened, nothing's changed? I just don't understand anything about this whole mess. So, maybe I really am going crazy—_

Brennan felt as if she were cracking into a thousand different pieces and not in a good way. She had tried earlier, to use logic and reason to figure out a way to handle the situation for the mutual benefit of everyone involved. However, after her impromptu heart-to-heart with Angela, her bravado had been crushed, and she knew that her seemingly brilliant plan had failed. She loathed to admit it, but after her thinly veiled debate with Booth on the lab's platform, Brennan knew her brain wouldn't be able to get her out of this mess, and she was at a loss of what to do besides continue driving herself and everyone around her crazy from the level of desperation that was building within her—both physically and mentally—because of the quagmire in which she was currently stuck.

_But, is it really such a mess? _a small voice suddenly echoed in her head. _Is it really so bad, such a terrible thing that you can't control what's happening to you? You've said logically, you've admitted out loud already, that you had sex with your partner. You had sex with Booth. You enjoyed it_. Y_ou enjoyed being with him, and given the chance, you'd want to do it again. Moreover, you know he isn't trying to control you and doesn't want to. If anything, he's been more protective of you and your partnership in the past week than he probably would've been before you slept together because he knows that you're afraid for some strange reason that he'll replace you. So, what's the big deal here? _

She watched him, his breaths coming more slowly as he swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down as he turned his head slightly and sighed. _ So, what's wrong? Why are you still punishing yourself? That's illogical, Brennan. Pure and simple. There's nothing logical in your actions, given the points you've already conceded about the situation. You like and respect Booth, right? You think he's attractive, and you want to be with him. Yes, he can be infuriating to the point that he pisses you off at some point on an almost daily basis, but that's just Booth. _

The voice took that moment to quiet itself, and Brennan stole another glance at Booth. His breathing had become quite even, and as she listened to the slow drizzle that had started to fall on the roof of the SUV, she tilted her head as she considered the point. _Yes, that's Booth. But—despite the fact that I can admit that we have a raging sexual attraction, over the past week, I've been spinning out of control. I know I have, to the point that even though I consider myself to be a consummate professional, that I've been acting very unprofessionally—and it's because of Booth._

At this, the other voice in her head suddenly perked up. _Now be fair, Brennan. It's been more because of your reaction to Booth more than anything he's done himself. You can't control what Booth does any more than he can control you. But, you _can_ control your reaction to him, and that's something, for some reason, you've chosen not to control. Ergo, what you really need to ask yourself is, fine, you feel like you're losing control of the entire situation between you and Booth, and you don't know where it went, but in reality, what you've really had an issue with is making your peace with controlling your emotional attachment to Booth that driven every single mental, emotional, and physical response you've had in the past week._

Biting her lip, Brennan frowned. She again stole another look at Booth, and a part of her immediately felt indignant as she thought, _Well, maybe so. But, what does it even matter? Yes, Booth's attracted to me, but obviously I haven't affected him in the same way he's affected me. How could I? He's been perfectly calm and rational, and only seems to have responded negatively in reaction to my moods. Quite obviously, he can't have the same problem as I do since it's very clear he hasn't exhibited signs of the same sexual frustration that I've experienced over the past week, so that means I'm still on my own—_

Slowly shaking her head, Brennan glanced at where Booth's hands were, folded casually, one over the other as they rested on his lap. She found herself admiring his hands—large and strong, the web of his dorsal venous network fanning prominently over the tops of his hands, the bulging veins tracing back over his wrist and up his muscular forearm before disappearing beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. At that point, she tilted her head as she focused her gaze on the sleeve of the dark blue button down shirt that he wore over a gray t-shirt. At the time he had removed his FBI jacket, Brennan had been so distracted by the act of his removing his jacket that she hadn't noticed how much the crisply ironed shirt resembled the one he had worn at Gleam last week before the entire situation before them had changed. The shirt made her think of the words that passed between them that night—the things he had said to her—and her mind flashed to a particularly effective claim he had made:

_"If I ever thought that you wanted to fuck me," he said, his voice low and husky. "I'd have taken you home with me years ago, and I'd have fucked your brains out long before now."_

Shifting a bit in the seat, Brennan's frown deepened. _If that wasn't an attempt to control me, then I don't know what is, _she thought to herself.

Again, that annoying voice in her head offered a ready response. _He seems to have influence on you, but he's not actually trying to control you, Brennan. Come on, now. That issue needs to be filed in the 'issues addressed and resolved' box. Again, it's all in how you choose to react to him that's the heart of the real issue here, isn't it?_

Considering the words, Brennan's attention was quickly drawn to Booth as he made a sound and then shifted slightly in his seat. She watched him intently for several seconds, not certain how much the breath he had taken actually sounded like she thought it had. Her brow furrowed as she thought back on how much the sound reminded her of another sound he'd made, a deep and throaty grunt that he'd uttered right as he pulled her up from his bed and pressed her taut against his rigid body.

_"Mine," he muttered. "Right now. This is mine," he said in a low grunt, so low, that Brennan didn't really hear him as he tightened his hold on her. "Tell me."_

As Brennan continued to stare at her partner, she suddenly recalled an earlier vow she'd made. _If I've been in a state of constant physical arousal for a week, it makes no logical sense not to engage in a simple physical act of self-gratification to release that tension and obtain relief. _Her eyes raked over his sleeping figure, noting the pleasant way his features looked, relaxed and soft as he napped. _There's no reason why I should feel uncomfortable about getting myself off, if that's what I need to do. After all, by trying to demonstrate my control over the situation by maintaining my resolve about not acting to achieve some type of release, in fact, aren't I just letting him control me in an even more offensive and insidious manner? Therefore, logically, the best way to demonstrate my own mastery of the situation is to exercise my own choice to obtain some type of suitable remedy here._

Glancing over, Brennan felt helpless as she inhaled deeply and again smelled his scent—the faint, but lingering odor of the morning's coffee mixed with his sweat, his aftershave and other smells—_most likely pheromones_, Brennan thought miserably. _God, Booth, you're killing me here, even if you aren't trying to control me_. However, unable to do anything to remove herself from the situation, she could only sit next to him, feeling very much as she imagined the Greek king Tantalus felt while enduring his perpetual torture in Hades. _Close, always so close to getting exactly what he wanted_—_a cool drink of water to ease his burning thirst_—_but, never actually being allowed to take a drink. That's who I've become. Tantalus. You see what you've done to me, Booth? You've reduced me to a damn melodramatic tragic mythic figure. Fuck_—

Folding her hands in her lap, Brennan shifted a bit, rubbing her ass against the seat in an effort to break up the monotony. As she placed her hands on her thighs, Brennan suddenly realized how much her heart rate had increased and that the restless energy she'd been feeling all day had begun to spike as she sat in such close proximity to Booth. _Fuck_, she thought miserably. _I can't take very much more of this. I just can't. If I could just... just get a little relief, I know things would be okay. I'll make my peace with the emotional stuff, if I could just stop wanting him physically. Maybe, things wouldn't be so bad, and I wouldn't be reacting to him as strongly as I am if I could just get a little bit of relief. If I could just...I don't know_—

Her thought trailed off as she looked over at Booth again, and, again inhaling deeply, she let his scent envelop her like a warm blanket. Her heart beat now beating dangerously fast, Brennan realized that if she didn't do something, she might just have one of those 'episodes' that certain members of the Jeffersonian and Hoover had been laying bets on for years and finally endure some type of breakdown as she suffered a partial break with reality. _Crazy. _ The word echoed in Brennan's mind as she thought back to Booth's pointed observation in her office before Zack had inconveniently interrupted them. _Maybe he's right. Unless I do something to take control of this situation_—_now, right now_—_maybe I'm finally going to break. _Shifting slightly in her seat again, Brennan looked at Booth, itching to reach out and run her fingers through his hair as she pictured pulling his head down to her breasts and seeing if the thing she remembered he could do with his tongue on her nipples was the thing that had made other women scream or if that maneuver was just for her alone. As soon as she mentally pictured his tongue wrapping around her nipple, Brennan felt her faint arousal begin to pulse strong, and she knew there was a decision to be made: run or stay and do what needed to be done. _God, Booth, do you see what you've done to me_? Brennan lamented. _Because, I'm not running from this. Not anymore. I can't...I just can't. It's killing me, and so I've got to do something about it_—

The timing and place were most definitely not appropriate, but Brennan felt as if she were drowning, and this was the last thing floating in the water that even remotely resembled a life preserver. _He wouldn't even have to know_, she thought, shifting a bit in her seat. _I've already been so tightly wound, metaphorically speaking_, _it really wouldn't take that much to do it. Especially with him sitting right there. I can see him, I can hear him, and God, I can even smell him now—_

Her eyes darted to the rolled-up sleeves of his shirt again, and again, Brennan thought back to how she had awoken that morning. She closed her eyes, and the image of the dream-Booth in his suit popped into her head, laughing at her obvious discomfort.

"_And, I'm not making fun of you. You just are taking this way too seriously, and that's what's so funny."_

_Ergo_, Brennan's warped thought process continued in that moment, _I need to stop taking this so seriously_. She licked her lips unintentionally as she recalled what happened in her dream after that, and how close she's been to coming before the real-Booth had woken her up. The sly thought came to her, as the result of one of the most beautiful pieces of rationalization that Brennan had probably ever indulged popped into her mind. _So, in a way, he does owe me, _she thought. _I'm sure none of our verbal sparring today would have been as bad as it has been if I hadn't been as...what did he say earlier...or maybe it was Angela...? 'Strung out'? Yes, I think it's fairly accurate to say that I know things would be a lot better if I wasn't as strung out as I have been. _

Shifting again in her seat, Brennan suddenly realized how warm the palm of her right hand felt as it rested on the softness of her denim-covered thigh. Glancing at her lap, she knew in that moment how _easy _it would be to do if she'd just keep her mouth shut. And, if there was one thing Brennan would do, it was bite off her own tongue to prevent any moans, groans, or soft sighs from escaping from her lips—particularly in light of the fact that Booth _still _hadn't let her live down the fact that she'd had the first orgasm after less than ten minutes in bed with him. _No, I can do this is complete and utter silence_, she told herself. _All I need to do is move, just a little bit. _Her hand swiftly complied with her brain's observation, as it slowly lifted up off her leg and swept under the hem of her denim skirt. Letting her palm rest on the smooth skin of her right thigh, she shivered an involuntarily for a few seconds, before she slowly began to inch in the direction of her ultimate goal.

Meanwhile, in the SUV's other seat, after a while, despite his best efforts not to do so, Booth groggily became aware of the fact that he had at some point, in fact, fallen asleep. Ironically, as it was probably what had lulled his tired mind to fall asleep in the first place as the last sound he'd heard before nodding off, it was the _thwpt, thwpt _of the rain falling in a steady pattern on the Tahoe's windshield that he heard first as he slowly drifted back into consciousness. Booth reluctantly cracked open his left eye and saw the driver's side window dotted with raindrops and, for a few moments, he watched the rain dribble down the window and puddle at the bottom of the window where the glass, the window seal, and the top of the door panel met. After a little bit, he closed his eye and rolled his head back to a neutral position before something else niggled at his mellow sense of quiet and demanded his attention.

At first, he wasn't sure what it was that had caught his attention. Taking several even breaths, he focused on what his senses could tell him as he attempted to figure out the source of his odd feelings. After a few seconds, Booth finally froze, his breath catching in his throat as he heard it—the shuffling sound of fabric, a strange, almost rhythmic sound that nearly faded into the ambient sound of the rain pelting the Tahoe's roof and windshield. The sound puzzled him, but he listened intently, unwilling to open his eyes quite yet in his contented lethargic haze. But, the sound persisted, tugging at the edges of his relaxed mind. After twenty or thirty seconds of listening to the curious sound, Booth figured out that it was coming from in the vicinity of the seat next to him, and he wondered what Brennan was doing to keep herself occupied while they waited for Robinson. When he finally bothered to open his right eye to see what it was, he was greeted by an odd sight.

At first glance, Brennan appeared to be sitting calmly, her back arched against the SUV's passenger seat, her breath coming in and out as her head faced forward. Somewhat puzzled by what she could be doing that would make the sound given that she seemed to be watching for Robinson as she promised, it was then that Booth noticed a small issue that made him question whether Brennan _was _actually watching for their POI. _What the hell, Bones? Why are your eyes closed? Don't tell me that you dozed off, too, because if we missed him, we're in some really deep shit_—

And, then, a very, very subtle movement caught his eye. His gaze traveled down her torso, and to her lap, when he saw it—

_Oh, God._

Booth knew it that moment that one thing was definitely for certain—whatever Brennan was doing, it _wasn't _sleeping. He looked in fascinated horror as watched his partner's right arm move rhythmically in small, but even gestures, her hand hidden beneath the hem of her skirt. He quickly closed his eye and swallowed as a feeling of lightheadedness came over him. _Okay, since I know that what I saw, obviously, wasn't what I thought I saw_—_uhh, what's happening? _he wondered. He knew what was happening, literally speaking—at least he was fairly certain he did—but he couldn't believe it was actually happening at that moment, in that place, right next to him, mere inches from where he sat. Logically, since Booth knew Brennan would never do something like _that_, no matter how far off the deep-end she might have fallen, he knew there had to be some _other _explanation for what he'd seen. He just wasn't sure what it was, or what he should do next to find out one way or the other.

Afraid to open his eyes again, Booth sat there in silence, listening to the rhythmic sound of what he guessed was her wristwatch brushing against the denim fabric of her skirt. _This is unreal, _he told himself. _I mean...there's gotta be some other reason why her hand's down there. I don't know what in the fuck it could be, but I know there has to be some other explanation aside from the one that says she's seriously sitting in my truck, next to me, on a goddamn stakeout, getting herself off. Because, Bones would never do that. Not the real-Bones, anyway. So, this is absolutely unreal...hmmm. Real-Bones. Maybe...maybe that's it, then? _Booth thought, as he suddenly wondered if his unconscious mind had played some nasty trick on him to make up for his failure to deliver on his promised doubleheader in the shower earlier in the day. _Is this like the gym? _Booth wondered, thinking that maybe his dream-Brennan was suddenly going to reach over, yank him on top of her when she suddenly appeared in nothing but that fucking exquisite matching dark blue lace bra and mesh panty set he'd been fantasizing about all week. _Gym, shooting range, batting cage...now, we're adding the SUV to it? _Booth stopped for a minute, and then grinned as he thought. _Okay. That one's new, but I'm game_.

For several moments, he wondered if this was some kind of meta-dream—surely he was, in fact, asleep, dreaming about waking up from a dream and finding his partner next to him, doing _that. _It would not have been the first time that week that he had dreamt of his partner sexually, as Booth readily admitted to himself that he had been dreaming and fantasizing about her several times a day ever since she had walked out of his apartment the on that Thursday morning. "_I'll just let myself out,"_ _she had said just moments before the door closed behind her. _Surely, this was a dream—a strange, otherworldly dream. So Booth waited for several minutes for his dream-Brennan to pounce on him and for the epic fucking to start. However, as more and more time passed, and Booth realized that nothing was happening, a louder part of his brain reminded him that it never took _this _long for the Brennan of his dreams to jump him. That feeling made him feel slightly sick in the pit of his stomach, and he began to feel slightly dizzy at the fact that, the more time passed, the more it appeared that _this _wasn't some weird scenario cooked up by his horny subconscious.

Booth took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to keep from making any sound as his own ears focused on the sound of the rain, the sound of rubbing fabric and another sound—the almost-imperceptible sound of a woman's breath rising and falling ever faster and harder. _This can't be real, _he told himself. He uncrossed his hands and pressed the fingers of his left hand hard into his thigh, determined to know once and for all whether this was a dream, another of his lurid fantasies, or if it was, in fact, actually happening. The pressure he felt on his thigh told him what he dreaded: this was no dream. _Oh, God, _he groaned silently. _I'm not dreaming. This is real...and...what the fuck is she doing? And, why...why is she doing it now? Here? Holy shit, Bones!_

As soon as he realized that, yes, the sounds that he heard were, in fact, real and not the product of some sexually-charged dream about his partner, Booth became aware of several other sensations: a raw tingle at the base of his spine and a vague but steadily increasing tightness in his jeans. _God, no, _he told himself. The soft sounds of her breaths falling ever faster with each passing stroke of whatever it was that was brushing against the denim of her skirt made his own breaths rise and fall harder than they'd been just seconds before.

_This is madness, _he said to himself. _This isn't supposed to be happening—not here, not now, not this way. She's __not__ supposed to be doing this. Fuck_—

The sound of the rubbing fabric and her rapidly rising and falling breaths seemed to roar ever-louder in his ears with every passing second, drowning out the pattering of the rain against glass and metal. _This isn't right, _a voice in his head lectured him. It was the same one that had been mentally berating Booth all day with annoying taunts of 'professional, strictly professional' in him mind.

_Fuck the strictly professional, _another voice countered as a surge of arousal pulsed in his belly, making his jeans even tighter and more uncomfortable. _ She's not, so why should you? You've been letting thoughts of her creep into that brain of yours all day, so what the fuck? _ _Obviously, she doesn't have any qualms about taking care of business, so when did you decide to be the fucking prude she's always saying you are? She's getting herself off, not a foot away from you, and for whatever her reasons_—_she's horny, she's bored, she's just trying to pass the time—whatever her fucking reasons, it's so sexy. So very, very fucking sexy._

_No, _that first voice insisted. _No, it doesn't matter why she's doing it. She needs to stop it right now. And, you need to stop getting a hard on thinking about what she's doing. This isn't the time or the place. Now is not the appropriate_—

_Fuck appropriate, _the other voice in his head laughed. _Now's not the time to be a damn hypocrite, Booth. Aren't you the one who was just telling Bones this morning that any time's a good time to get turned on? So, really, in a way, she's just doing what you told her to do. She's so hot for you, _that second voice whispered to him. _To hell with Robinson, _that voice pressed him._ Fuck 'em. He's not coming home tonight—after all this goddamn time, if he's not here by now, he'd not coming_—_unlike the fucking sexy mess that's right beside you_. _Come on, Booth. You know it's true. Your gut's telling you he's not here yet because he's working the overnight shift. _Booth felt his skin get hot as each of his hands squeezed the corresponding thigh, and he tried to get a grip on his swirling thoughts._ So, make your move, man. This is it. You've wanted another go at her all week. Well, here it is. She's even made things easy and taken all the prep work out of it for you, because you know after all that, for how long she's been playing with herself, you know she's beyond wet and ready_—_hot, tight, moist, and ready for you, just for you. So, open up your eyes, give her the fucking killer smile of yours that will make her wetter than she already is, and snap to it_—

His eyes blinked open at the more lewd voice in his head trailed off, and his head rolled to the right as the final words of the more evil of the two voices in his head lingered just long enough to egg him on. Looking at his partner clearly, he saw Brennan's face was raised a little, and she'd turned slightly to the right at some point because he couldn't see her eyes. He watched her chest rise and fall as the sounds of rubbing fabric continued driving him crazy.

_Madness. She finally snapped from everything, gone crazy, over the goddamn edge, and she's trying to take me with her. _Despite that fact swirling in his brain, Booth couldn't help it as he watched her for several agonizingly long moments, growing hard with each flick of her wrist . _God, she's so fucking sexy. So hot, and so fucking sexy, and so much better than any dream. Come on, baby. Keep working it_. However, while his arousal grew more and more pronounced to the point that Booth was afraid he was going to come in his pants if things continued, embarrass himself, and just make things worse for everyone involved, the evil voice in his head was smacked to the side as cold logic reasserted its dominance. Finally, Booth knew he couldn't take it anymore, and he acted to end the madness.

"Bones!" he said, his voice a sharp, husky growl.

Brennan immediately froze. She chomped down on her lip to keep from crying out so hard that she wondered if she'd bitten herself hard enough to draw blood. However, the single word had been enough to get her to stop what she was doing, as she thought that perhaps she'd imagined him calling her name when no other sounds followed. _God, _she whimpered to herself. _I'm so close. Just a little bit more, Booth. Just a little bit_—

And, then, when she waited for a minute to see if she had just imagined it, and when Booth didn't say anything else, she desperately continued her former actions in an agonizingly slow motion as she tried to push herself over the edge and achieve some much needed relief.

After a minute or two of silence, Booth saw Brennan arch her back forward a bit and resume her movements. In complete disbelief at what he saw, he finally forced himself to look away as he rasped in a low voice, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

At his words, Brennan turned her head to face him, snapping around to meet his eyes as an angry grunt sounded from her throat. Their intense gazes collided as she leveled a dark stare at him, her jaw taut and her teeth bared as her right arm stilled. But, she said nothing as she rolled her jaw from side-to-side, channeling her heavy breaths through her nostrils to force her breathing to slow.

After a few seconds, she finally composed herself enough to give a response to Booth's prior question. "Nothing," Brennan finally managed to spit out. "I-I...I'm not doing anything."

"Bullshit," Booth told her instantly, his voice sharp and dangerous as he spoke. "I know _exactly _what you were just doing, Bones. _Exactly_."

"I told you—I wasn't doing...anything," she repeated, swallowing hard as she struggled to maintain the tenuous control she had of her breathing patterns.

"Stop it," he told her. "Cut it out, _now. _We're on a goddamn stakeout, for Christ's sake."

"I know where we are," she admitted breathlessly.

"Then, stop lying to me and quit fucking around," Booth told her.

"I'm not—"

Snapping his fingers at her suddenly, Booth shook his head. "That didn't work last week, and it sure as hell won't this time, Bones. Remember, I can read you like a goddamn book. So, quit it."

"Fine," she snapped, suddenly letting go of the poor pretense she'd been trying to maintain for both their sakes. "Fine. I admit it. We both know what I was doing—"

His brow furrowed over his dark, deep-set almond eyes. "This isn't right," he told her angrily.

"You think I don't know that?" Brennan almost shouted at him, the desperation clear in her voice. "I _know _that."

"Then, why are you doing it?"

Shaking her head, Brennan bit her lip, her anger at being interrupted twice in the same day by Booth when she was so close to finally getting off. Trying a different tactic of explanation, she pleaded with him, "If you really want to know, fine, I'll explain everything—"

"I don't need to know the details, Bones," Booth said. "I know why people do what you were, _err, _doing there.

"Then, how about this, Booth? Why don't you please, just for about two more minutes, please..._please_ go back to sleep. Just two more minutes, okay?" She paused and looked at him, her jaw rigid in frustration. "Then, we can both pretend that this never happened because I'm not letting you interrupt me again!" she snapped, her voice almost a yell.

"That's not happening," he told her with a steely look coming into his eyes. "We're working, Bones. We're on the clock. This is so—" He raised hand, his fingers curled in a claw-like grip as he searched for the right words to convey the utter insanity of her actions. "So, unprofessional, it makes all the other shit you've pulled this week combined look like a cakewalk. God, Bones—we're in an official U.S. government vehicle, on official government business. We're supposed to be watching for a possible murder suspect here, Bones Not— " At that moment, he was so shocked, so livid, he couldn't bring himself to give a name to what she had been doing. "Not doing..._that_."

"I know what we're doing here," she barked back. Suddenly, the desperation and anger and lust she had been feeling building into a perfect storm of emotion, and Brennan lost it. Turning on Booth, despite her promise not to spazz out, any pretense of trying to keep things on a professional and even keel went out her head as she spun and tried to go on the offensive. Narrowing her eyes, she turned the attack back on him. "But, since when did _you _care about appropriate use of an official U.S. government vehicle, Booth?"

"What?" He cocked his head and stared at her. "What did you say to me?"

"You heard me," Brennan reiterated, her eyes narrowed and alight with emotion. "If you seriously expect me to believe the fact that in all the years that you've been assigned a government vehicle by the FBI that you've never jerked off for some reason, I'm not foolish enough to believe that."

"Now, look," Booth began, turning in his seat to face her. "You don't know—"

"Fine," Brennan said, her hands snapping out from underneath her skirt, her eyes blazing in frustrated and impotent rage as she crossed her arms and jutted her chin out defiantly as she latched on to the only recent example of misbehavior on his part that she could think of having happened recently. "You're right. I can't prove that you've ever had any sexual encounter in this vehicle, Booth, despite your earlier—and _very_ suspect claims this morning, mind you, that, and I quote, 'any time can be a good time to get turned on'—so, you're right. I might not know about _that_—" Booth felt a flush of pleasure at her concession of his victory, but then he suddenly felt it ring hollow as she added slyly, "But, I do know, for a fact, that you have done things you shouldn't have when you were in this vehicle."

"Meaning what?" Booth said, a tight ball of fear coiling in his stomach completely unrelated to his raging hard on.

"Are you telling me that the permissive personal use of your official U.S. government vehicle extends to driving while intoxicated—well enough over the legal limit that I'm sure, if you'd been stopped by law enforcement, a breathalyzer test would have indicated that you were guilty of DUI—the way you did a week ago?" Brennan stopped and then tilted her head as she said, "I wonder would what someone like Caroline would think if she had to prosecute you for stupidity, Booth. What would she think...to say nothing of the rest of the Hoover's bureaucratic infrastructure?"

Booth's face flushed with anger. "You've got a lot of gall," he said to her, "to think you have the right to say _anything_ to me about proper use of a government vehicle—or professionalism, for that matter."

"At least when I did something stupid, is wasn't illegal!" Brennan yelled at him. "At least when I made a mistake, it wasn't dumb enough that it could've cost someone their life."

"Fine!" Booth roared, stabbing the air in front of her with his index finger. "You want to hear that you're right? Fine, Bones! You're _right! _I fucked up, and I could've really fucked up because I made a humongous dumb-ass mistake because I got behind the wheel of the car when I was drunk last week. It was wrong, I know it, and but for a bit of stupid dumb luck, I could've done a lot of damage—a whole hell of a lot of fucking damage. Don't you think I know that? You don't think I regret doing that? Look, I made a mistake. It was wrong. I've never done it before, and I sure as hell will never do it again, but for fuck's sake, I'm _not _perfect!"

"No," Brennan said, as she leaned back in her seat. "You're not. You just like to _think_ you are, sitting there like the exemplary specimen of duty, honor, and professionalism you like everyone to think you encapsulate so fucking perfectly, Booth."

His heart pounded in his chest as his growing rage bubbled up in his chest. "Like I said, Bones, a lot of fucking gall you've got trying to spin this around and make it about me. So, much for that goddamn promise of yours not to spazz out again, huh? Because, if this isn't spazzing out to the fucking epic extremes, I don't know what is. And, even before this fucking reprehensible bullshit behavior of yours, the stunts you've pulled in the last week, those conniptions you've thrown at not one but _two _crime scenes—Jesus, Bones, and now to top it all off, you pull _this._"

His ears burned with fury as the tingling, twittering feeling at the base of his spine returned as he thought of how close he'd come to throwing her down on the ground at the crime scene, ripping her jumpsuit off of her, and fucking her in public, regardless of who was watching. His earlier feeling towards her—wanting to fight her or fuck her—returned with a vengeance.

"You—" he said with gritted teeth, so furious that he could no longer even speak.

Brennan turned her body towards him and looked at his lap, which was dimly illuminated by the pale glow of a streetlamp at the far end of the alley and the flickering light of a neon sign in front of the convenience store on the corner adjacent to Robinson's apartment building. It was supplemented as the occasional bolt of lightning added what Brennan considered a trite, if appropriate metaphor, for the argument that was taking place within the confines of the SUV.

"You're one to talk, Booth," she sneered, pointing a slender finger at the bulge in his jeans. "At least there's a reason that I'm doing what I'm doing. But, you—how many times have you fucked some blonde slut since I rolled out of your bed last week? That's what you were anxious for earlier, wasn't it—you had to make a...what is it? A booty call, right? But, since you didn't, now you've got to deal with things by yourself, and voila! There we are." Her words trailed off as she narrowed her eyes and looked in both scorn and appreciation at his obvious erection straining against the tight fabric of his jeans. "You think a little detail like _that _would escape me?" Brennan sneered. "Come on, Booth. Did you really think I wouldn't notice or see it? So, who's being unprofessional now? How long have you been hard, huh?"

Booth covered his groin with his hand and glared at her, flushing an even deeper red in embarrassment. "Jesus Christ, Bones! What's wrong with you?" he growled. "Why on earth would you—?" He shook his head. "I mean, this is crazy!"

She stared at him and pointed again. "So, answer me, Booth. How long this federal agent been disrespecting his federal vehicle there, huh?"

"Fine," Booth growled. "You know what? Fine. I admit it. I couldn't help myself. Yeah, I heard you trying to get yourself off, and I'll admit it, it turned me on—"

"Ha!"

"But, the difference between you and me, Bones," Booth told her, interrupting her triumphant yelp. "—is that I have enough self-control and self-respect not to start jerking off on the clock...on company time."

Brennan narrowed her eyes, snickered, but said nothing in her own defense.

Still in disbelief of her actions and the subsequent turn the conversation had taken, Booth said, "What's wrong with you?" He could feel his breath, hot and hard, streaming from his nostrils onto his upper lip which had twisted in anger. "I mean, did it finally happen? Did you finally flip out for some reason, and I missed it, because I don't fucking understand what I'm missing here. What's your fucking problem, Bones?"

Brennan suddenly lost her nerve, blanching at his question. "I'm not crazy," she finally muttered.

"Well, from where I'm sitting over here, it sure as hell seems like it," Booth told her. "What's happened to you?"

"You," Brennan suddenly yelled, her eyes snapping up to meet his. "You! Whatever's happened to me in the past week, it's all because of _you!"_

"I can't believe it," he said with a laugh. "Don't you dare try to pin this one on me again. Whatever your problem is, you did it to yourself. You can't blame me if you're so sexually frustrated that you can't even wait until we're done—"

"Yes," she said in a strangulated whisper. "Yes, I can, and I am, Booth. This is all your fucking fault, and I...well, I just can't take it anymore!" she shouted. Stopping, trying one last-ditch effort to get the time she needed to finish the task she'd been so close to finally achieving, Brennan begged him, her voice low and raw with emotion, "Please, Booth. Please...just...just for two more minutes, please go back to sleep. Please," she pleaded with him. "Don't do this to me again. Please, _please_ don't do this to me again."

Booth closed his eyes and shook his head incredulously, trying desperately to ignore the even stronger tingle of desire that flashed over him at her unexpected response. "What?" He stared at her, drilling into her eyes with his intense gaze. "Again? Do what to you again?"

"I-I just…I've—" Brennan stammered, leaning her head back and turning away from him as her cheeks flushed. "The pressure—the need—I can't take it anymore." She rolled her head to look at him. "I had to—I couldn't take it any more…I _have _to get some relief…" She stared at him, her mouth hanging open slightly before her gaze fell again, first to the center console and then moving across to his right hand, which gripped his thigh tensely.

Booth blinked, flummoxed by her confession. "Why?" he muttered at last. "I don't understand, Bones. Make me understand."

Shaking her head, Brennan said miserably, "I don't think I can."

"Try me."

"No," Brennan insisted. "I don't think you'd understand, even if I tried, Booth."

"Why?"

"Because," she said miserably. "I don't think you can understand when...God, Booth. I don't know how you do it."

"Do what, Bones?" Booth asked, almost begging her to tell him what was really wrong—or, more simply, what had _really _been bothering her all week beside her fear of losing control.. "Come on, work with me, here. I don't understand what you're trying to tell me."

"How can you be so fucking calm?" Brennan finally asked, twisting in her seat to face him. "I mean, how you can just sit there, day after day, like nothing happened. How do you do it, Booth? How can you just act like nothing's changed between us in the past week? I don't know how you're doing it, and I want to. I really want to know how you can be so fucking unaffected by it, by _me. _I just don't understand how you can do it—unless...unless, when we were in bed, it was a just—" She stopped, swallowed once, and then forced herself to finish her thought. "Unless... it was just a forgettable fuck for you, that I wasn't anyone special, that what happened between us wasn't important. I just don't—" Her words trailed off and she swallowed anxiously.

"Are you kidding me?" he blurted with out, disbelief clear in his voice. He stared at her for a moment, his eyes wide in complete incredulity at her words as he said, "You're joking, right?"

"No," Brennan told him with a sad shake of her head. "I wouldn't dare joke about something like _this_."

Booth stared at her for a moment, saw how despondent Brennan had become, and then, the final piece of the puzzle that he'd been missing all week finally clicked into place. Suddenly, everything from her mood swings to her jealous behavior to her attempts to please him made complete and total sense in a way that had completely escaped him before that very moment. _She wants me_, Booth thought gleefully to himself. _She wants me, and she wants me so badly she's been driving herself insane over it. Fuck, Bones_— "You have no idea, do you?" he said with a short laugh. He watched her eyes, twinkling with anguish in the flickering, red-hued light cast by the neon sign in the corner store's window. He sighed, torn between ecstatic happiness at the revelation and exasperation over what she'd put both of them through in the last week. "Jesus, Bones. Seriously?" he said with a sardonic laugh as he shook his head. "For fuck's sake, I mean, I know I've lobbed this a few times at you in the past week and didn't mean it, but seriously...how can you be that insecure? Don't you know—how can you not possibly know what you've been doing to me for almost eight days?"

Brennan stared open-mouthed at him, blinked several times, the shock and awe writ all over her face. It took her a minute as she continued to look at him, her brain struggling to process his words and failing hopelessly. At last, she swallowed once and told him hesitantly, "No. No, I don't—"

"Every day, Bones," Booth muttered with a shake of his head. "I've spent every hour of every day this week, awake or asleep, thinking about you, consumed by you, obsessed with you."

He felt a flash of desire throb in his belly at the admission.

"Then, how have you—"

Booth cut her off with a shake of his head. "You want to know how I've been holding it together when you've been driving me fucking insane?" She looked at him, a look of vulnerable inquiry on his face that tore at his heart. _Fuck, Bones. _He swallowed once and then said, "Fine, here it is... I've—I've been jacking off every morning and nearly every night this week, Bones." Unable to suppress a sheepish grin, he added, "And, the dreams I've had—oh God, Bones…"

"You've had dreams about me?" she asked, her voice hardly a whisper, her heart catching in her throat with hope as if she'd suddenly been given the most precious secret to the world' greatest unsolvable riddle by his simple confession. "Oh, please," she implored him. "You...you wouldn't lie about this, would you, Booth? Please," she whispered. "Please don't tease me about this..."

"I'm not teasing, you, Bones, and no—" he said with a small smile as he reached out and brushed a small strand of wayward hair out of her eyes and tucked it behind her ear. "I'm not lying to you. I'd never lie to you—not about _this_."

Brennan swallowed once, hope continuing to blossom in her chest. "So, I'm not the only one_—_?"

"No," he said, turning his head and staring straight ahead, unable at the moment of his confession to look her in the eyes. "Oh, God, no, baby. No, you're not." The ache between his legs pulsed the moment the admission passed from his lips. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"I've had dreams, too," Brennan said quietly, unsure what had happened to the steely nerve she'd felt just minutes before, but unable to ignore the throbbing and dampness between her legs for any longer. "But, I'm cracking, Booth. I'm breaking into a million little pieces because—"

"Why?" he asked, holding her gaze so intently he didn't look down to see where her hands had fallen.

However, Brennan knew _exactly _where her right hand was as she felt it resting lightly on her thigh, having found its way back to where it had originally began when the entire crazy scenario had started, the warmth of her body pulsating and drawing her like a magnet. She shifted in her seat, bringing her fingers once more under the hem of her panties. As she drew her finger across her swollen clit, she heard a sharp intake of breath, then realized it was not her own.

"No," Booth groaned as he reached across the console and grabbed her left arm.

"Booth, I—" she protested weakly as she felt his hot fingers close around her wrist. He pulled her hand across the console and placed it on top of his thigh.

"You're not the only one, Bones," he whispered as he slid her hand up the inside of his thigh and brushed it against his arousal. "You're not the only one," he repeated, struggling to keep from coming in his jeans for the second time that evening. "I swear."

"That's not true," Brennan almost cried out, wanting to pull back her hand, but unable to do so, stuck as it was over his arousal as if they were magnetically joined. "You said it yourself, Booth. I'm the crazy one. I'm the one who has no self-control, no self-respect. You're different than me."

"Oh, God, Bones," Booth breathed. "I didn't mean that—"

"But, that doesn't make it any less true," she said quietly. "And, I...I can't wait anymore. It's not enough that you feel the same way as I do, not now. Maybe you can hold it together until later, but I...oh, God, Booth. Please, just let me have two minutes. I haven't...I need to—"

"Haven't what, Bones?" he said still pressing his hand against hers, resulting in her almost cupping him through his jeans in a way that made him want to buck his hips into her palm right at that very moment.

Looking up at him, Brennan tilted her head, her eyes watering from the emotion of the entire situation. "Really, Booth? Do you really need me to spell it out for you?"

He was looking at her, still confused, and that confusion was clear on his face.

Sighing, she almost whimpered as she finally spoke, her voice cracking with each word. "A week, Booth. It's been a week since...since I've come, okay?"

Booth narrowed his eyes at her, not comprehending her strange words, opening his mouth at last to ask the single question that still needed to be answered. "But...why?"

"Because!" Brennan said, suddenly snapping her hand away from him. "It was the only thing that I could control. I've been spinning out of control for a week because of how I feel about you. I couldn't control how I felt, what I was thinking, how I was reacting to you. The only thing I could control was if I touched myself—if got myself off or not, okay?"

Laughing, he looked at her as he said, "God, I've said it before, but I think I need to say it again. For such a brilliant fucking scientist, you're incredibly stupid sometimes." Grabbing her hand, he pulled her towards him. "Come here," he said in a low, husky voice as he leaned over the console and reached over to cup her jaw. "Now, Bones, because I never said anything about waiting. Come 'ere, now. Right now."

And, then, Booth gently pulled her face towards his, and, for once, she'd didn't resist him, she didn't fight him at all as their lips met in a hungry kiss.

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><p><strong>-TBC-<strong>

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><p><strong>AN2**: So, was that cruel place to put an evil cliffhanger? Yup. Do we know that? Yup? Did we do that because we're sado-massochists? No, probably not (not really, anyway), but we had to end this chapter somewhere so, there goes. Just to recap in case you missed it: Brennan's still desperate, she's pushed Booth just about as far as he can go, they've confessed, and they've kissed..., so what happens next? Obviously, they quickly realize the error of their ways, apologize, and go home. Really? Yeah, _riiiighhhtttt. _Coming up next: things move to the back seat and those Tahoe windows get _really _fogged up. Want to see it post more quickly? Then, if you want us to put you out of your misery, you know what to do by putting us out of ours. Let us know how we did... ::stares at 'review' button below:: Yeah. :)~


	6. Ch 16: Reducing Dissonance

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.

**A/N:** By the third go, you all know the drill: if you want to see summaries, warnings, etc. please see one of the earlier chapters where you may view them in all their awesome epic chatty excellentness. However, at my insistence—and, yes, I'm still insisting, here is where I repeat my standard spiel about feedback, i.e., constructive criticism is still both welcome and encouraged, but I have my pet dragon on standby, so, save both your time and ours and don't say something unless it's really worth saying.

Once again, many thanks to everyone who left reviews. The two most common sentiments were that we (read: I) am evil for the cliffies—I did receive those deaththreats, thank you very much faithful readers, and you all wanted—and I quote: "more, more, more!" So, consider your wish granted. Younglings, scurry away. This chapter is not meant for you—not that any of the prior chapters have been, but—oh, well, you know what I mean. Everyone else, get an adult libation of you choice, a bucket of ice, and let's see what happens next.

Now, what _were _Booth and Brennan doing the last time we left them? Oh, yeah—_that..._~

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><p><strong>Chapter 16- Reducing Dissonance <strong>

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><p>To say that when they finally pulled apart that it was with reluctance, would be to describe the eventual occurrence very, very mildly.<p>

"Oh, God, Booth—" Brennan moaned into his mouth as his lips grasped at hers. "You taste so much better than I remember," she groaned. "So much better."

He had no verbal response, but leaned in closer to give him a better angle from which he could begin to suck and kiss his way from her jaw bone down to her neck. As his tongue darted in and out, leaving his own creatively wet design over her skin, Brennan felt her arousal increase tenfold and her world started to spin brightly in front of her. However, the SUV's center console sat between them, keeping her from getting into a suitable position to do anything about her quite trying situation. Stymied and frustrated beyond the limits of her endurance, in that instant, her world became very small, and all she could feel was his touch. All Brennan could think of was doing whatever she had to do to make it possible to keep touching him, and she devoted herself to solving that irksome conundrum.

At some point, in the haze of desire that descended like a fog over both of them, her decision made, Brennan didn't bother to say a word to Booth as she kicked off her brown heels. She then scrambled over the console, hooking first one leg and then the other over in a very measured motion given how her skirt limited her movements. Thankfully, he had already pushed his seat as far back as it would go when he had stretched out earlier in the evening, giving her a little room to move. Before he could even contemplate what was happening, she had straddled him, her legs draped over his lap as the maddening, pulsing ache between his legs seemed to disconnect his brain from the rest of his body. He reached up and cupped his hands around her jaw as he pulled her face towards his, covering her mouth with his in a hard, almost savage kiss. He groaned when Brennan ground her hips into his lap as they kissed.

"God, _Boooonnnnes…_"

They were the first words that had been spoken in sometime by either one of the pair. And, when combined with the chorus of moans, groans, heavy gasps, quick inhalations of air, and the shifting of their bodies, it made a pretty, pretty soundtrack to both of their ears.

Brennan continued kissing him, and in that moment, the annoying, so fucking annoying voice that had been screaming at Booth to 'keep it strictly professional' suddenly perked up again. Booth had never wanted to commit murder against a part of his psyche before, but in that moment if he could've killed the source of that voice, he would have, particularly when it chimed in with a question that had been clawing at the edge of his consciousness all week. _Ask her_, it hissed in his head. _Stop right now. Stop this before it's too late, and ask her what you need to ask her, or you'll be right back where you were when she left you last week once everything is said and done. Don't let that happen again. It's killing you, this madness. So, please_—_for her sake, as well as yours, __ask __her._

For a split second, rational thought pulled away control of Booth's body from his libido. Slowly, he leaned back into his seat, trying futilely to put some distance between them, and when Brennan tried to press her body further into his, he nearly wanted to cry with what he knew he had to do. Slowly, he brought a hand up to her heart, covering the spot on her chest with the warm palm of his hand, and gentled pressed it to still her onslaught.

"Wait a second, Bones," Booth said softly. "Wait—please, oh God. Please wait."

"Can't," she breathed finally when she slowed her actions, but didn't actually stop. "I can't, Booth."

"We have to, Bones," Booth pleaded, swallowing once to try to center his world as it spun brightly in front of him, stars almost pricking at the edge of his field of vision. "We need to...I mean, what is this, huh? What is this thing? What are we doing here? Are you just going to come and then leave me again? Because, I can't take that, Bones. I need to know, and so we need to—"

"I can't," Brennan repeated, shaking her head as she cut him off. "I can't," she repeated with a breathless whisper. "I told you. I'm falling apart, Booth. I can't think straight right now, let alone enough to seriously talk. I can't do anything right now besides fucking, okay?" She stopped, and tilted her head at him as she said, "Afterwards, if you want to talk, fine. I won't leave. I promise. But, now—I just can't. I...I can't think straight. All—all I want, all I can think about is how you make me feel, and how very, _very_ much I want you inside me right now. And, I can only really focus on making that happen. I-I...I'm surprised I'm even coherent enough right now to be able to talk to you like this, honestly. I mean, God, Booth—if you knew what this past week's been like for me. I feel like I've been splitting into two different people—Dr. Brennan and Ms. Hyde. It's been horrible, and I've got to end that, and the only way I know to do that is to put my body out of it's physical misery. So, if you have a problem with that, you need to tell me, because I'll be damned if I'm going to almost come for a third time today and not actually get off. That's just not happening, Booth, so if I need to go back over to my seat and take care of business myself, that's fine, you just need to tell me—"

Her taunt, or more really a challenge at his manhood thrown down, Booth suddenly threw rationality out the window, and happily let his sex drive return to its place in front of the controls. Yanking her towards him, he thrust his tongue into her eagerly awaiting mouth, and felt it warmly received as he began to plunder her the overwhelmingly ripe sweetness of her mouth.

Brennan felt his lips move over hers as his tongue twirled against her own, and she swore that every one of her nerve endings was on fire as she savored the taste of him. She wanted more, but the Tahoe's steering wheel dug into the small of her back as Booth pressed against her, his hips thrusting up as she kissed him back deeply.

"Back...seat," Brennan breathed, not certain if she had said the last word or just thought it as she almost begged him in her desperation. Necessity demanded that she pull away from him, for a minute, and she did so, albeit reluctantly. "I can't…I can't get enough room—"

"The seat's as far back as it'll go, Bones," Booth said, his own voice rough and ragged with proof of the exchange her words had interrupted, and not quite certain what she wanted him to do about it. She was straddling him, and he was burning up—nearly in pain from wanting her, from wanting to finally be inside her, as quickly and as deeply as possible once more. _No_, he suddenly corrected himself. _Not nearly in pain_—_I __am__ in pain. God, Bones, what are you doing to me? _ He wanted with every fiber of his being to devour her, all of her, to feel her all around him, to feel himself buried so deep inside of her—

"I know," Brennan told him. "But, the steering wheel is cutting into my back, and—I can't wait any more, Booth." She paused, gulped for air greedily and said softly, "I'm done waiting. _Please_, I have to be done with the waiting. It's killing me."

Booth held her gaze for a minute and nodded in understanding, seeing the physical pain and need to obtain some type of relief shining just as purely in her eyes as he imagined was probably currently present in his own. "Back seat?" He wondered when the last time he had sex in a car—actual sex, not just a blow job (thinking back to that one stakeout when Rebecca—she wasn't even supposed to be there, but had ended up following him when he got the call during one of their arguments, and since her mother had had Parker, it had continued after he went on duty; and, like all the other times they'd argued during period, their fight had eventually culminated in a sex act, at least as far as she was concerned—but, well, that didn't really count...not really). There were a number of times in high school when he had made excellent use of the generously-sized bench seat in the back of his Chevelle SS, but he'd been just a kid back then. But, now..._now_ it appeared he was about to see how well outfitted the government's standard issue vehicle really was—

"Back seat," Brennan agreed with a curt nod, already moving off of where she sat perched on his lap.

Giving him a quick kiss before she pulled away—one which Booth seemed quite content to deepen before Brennan interrupted them again—she hooked her legs over the console once again, she scrambled back into her own seat. Moving as quickly as she could, she twisted to the side and fumbled for the lever that would allow her to push the seat down. The rain continued to pour outside, annoying Brennan that she couldn't just throw open her door without drenching both herself and the car. While she conceded the fact that she was already wet enough for her current situation without letting the hard rain douse her, the storm seemed to be both a benefit and a curse as she had to become quite creative in getting into SUV's roomier back seat from the front and not actually leaving the car. Her frustration increasing, she quickly grabbed for the seat release and yelped in ecstatic satisfaction as she found finally found it. Yanking it up, she leaned backward in the chair, her excitement growing with each inch that brought her closer to the paradise represented by the confines of the Tahoe's back seat.

Watching her movements with baffled amusement, "Bones," Booth whispered, "what are you doing?" She didn't appear to have heard his question, as he watched her fuss with her seat and wondered why she didn't just climb over the center console. _Always making things more complicated than they need to be, ehh, Bones_? he thought. _Always gotta do things the hard way, huh? _As his own mind was so hazed with desire that he found himself watching her in curiosity, his eyes and focus falling on his favorite parts of her—her curvy hips, that heart-shaped ass, the jiggle of her tits as she shifted back and forth in the seat, flashes of skin just slightly visible from where some of the buttons of her blouse were snapped free—Booth licked his lips in appreciation. He felt a tight coil of want tug at him behind his navel, and he felt himself harden even further as he watched her with a wry smile.

Twisting so that her back was to the dashboard, Brennan quickly scrambled up the reclining seat, sighing a breath of relief as she was finally moving towards her goal with each movement that it was almost as if the crawling over the seat offered her a bridge into Eden, if such a place had ever actually existed outside of the minds of men.

Booth laughed quietly as he watched her struggle with the seat's release, but as soon as she turned fully towards the back, her backside the only part of her facing him, he decided he had just watched for long enough. At almost the same moment Brennan was scrambling like a monkey into the backseat, Booth quickly raised his own armrest and swung his leg over the center console, hissing quietly as doing so put even more pressure on his aching cock as it strained against the fabric of his blue jeans. He felt the full onslaught of his intense desire descend over him like a curtain falling over a stage. He could no longer see anything else but her, and he was consumed, obsessed with the single goal as he could no longer think about anything else other than how badly he wanted to be inside of her. That single objective compelled Booth as he climbed into the backseat, seeking out his target with a honed and well-aimed precision.

Throwing herself into the more roomy comfort of the Tahoe's rear bench seat, Brennan adjusted herself so that she was sitting upright in the back, her back pressed flush against the cushion of the seat. Shifting her legs slightly, Brennan looked up and suddenly realized that she wasn't going to have even a few seconds to call out to Booth to encourage him to follow her—no encouragement was needed, it turned out—as she felt his warm body suddenly hurtled against hers with an incredibly welcome pressure as he pushed himself up against her. It was lucky she had adjusted her position so that her legs were as opened as they were because Booth had quickly taken up residence between them, pressing his body against hers. For a split second, a part of Brennan's mind wondered how he had managed to get into the backseat so quickly when it had taken her so long to do so, but his lips on hers quickly neutralized any spare operating memory her brain had to work with at that moment.

"God, you feel good," Brennan finally murmured, pressing herself up against him, arching her back towards his, using her hands to bolster her body as she thrust her hips up to meet him in eager anticipation. "_Sooooo goooood_," she breathed. Although they were still almost entirely clothed, she could feel Booth's erection straining against his jeans and it started to drive her even crazier. "Oh, God—" Brennan murmured, feeling her desperation grow even worse.

His lips were on hers in that moment, and Brennan went from sheer desperation to a frantic frenzy. She clawed at the dark blue button-down shirt that he wore over loosely over one of his various non-descript light grey T-shirts. Getting the outer shirt off of Booth proved to be fairly easy. But, as he continued to press against her, eagerly seeking out her lips, every time she felt a flash of satisfaction at maneuvering him so that she could reach down and pull his T-shirt from where it was tucked into the jeans, he countered her move, forcing Brennan to start all over again. After the same thing had happened three times in a role, his actions made her want to scream out loud—and not in a good way.

"Booth—" she called, barely managing to get his attention. "You've got to stop doing that long enough so that I can get your shirt off—"

Again, feeling Booth's tongue invade her mouth once more, Brennan felt the breath sucked out of her as she felt the velvet caress of his tongue inside her, impeding her ability to communicate verbally with him impeded.

Brennan groaned again, half-distracted by his kiss. _Booth really is a good kisser_, she thought, almost wondering if she dared ask him what 'thing' it was that he did with his tongue that drove Rebecca crazy; she then mentally smacked herself for daring to allow the blonde to invade her thoughts during such an intimate moment. _Come on, Brennan. This is what you want, isn't it? What you've wanted, waited for…for an entire week? So, stop it. Stop shooting yourself in the foot with visions of blondes that Booth's banged dancing in your head_, a voice suddenly came in her head, a voice that sounded conspicuously like Booth—but, refocusing, Brennan once again concentrated on getting him into a position so she could get his damn T-shirt off.

When he pulled away for a few seconds to gasp for air himself, a pure necessity that his lungs demanded of his body, with which he was forced to comply if he wanted to be in a state to continue kissing her, she took the opportunity to try again. "Booth, could you—?"

And, again, Brennan was interrupted when he launched at her again before she finished the sentence, kissing her for all he was worth. _This is getting me nowhere_, a small part of her thought as she half-fell into the sensation of his kiss and the other half screamed that she needed relief since she was _more _than ready for him and couldn't get any wetter if she tried. _Enough is enough with the foreplay!_ a loud voice echoed in her mind. _Enough!_ Suddenly, feeling a burst of frustrated aggression fuel her actions, she growled as she yanked Booth forward to get his attention.

"Goddamn it, Booth," she hissed, her voice rough with desire and want. "Stop it, and help me."

"What?" he finally mumbled, confused by her sudden anger. "What is it?"

"I'm so sick of this, Booth," Brennan told him with a sharp shake of her head. "It doesn't matter if it's in either my dream or real life, but I'm tired of you either deciding you either can't or won't help me when I ask. So, make your decision, or I'm going back into the front seat to get myself off."

Booth stared at her for a moment, and she was uncertain if it was the tone of her voice or the words themselves that finally got his attention.

"Help me," she repeated breathlessly.

"How?" he finally rasped.

"Shift a bit," Brennan nodded. "I can't get…I can't get the right position for this like this. I need you to move—"

Sensing more than coherently understanding what she was asking of him, Booth—albeit awkwardly and with a grunt as he accidentally elbowed Brennan lightly in the side as they switched positions—after a few moments of logistical repositioning, he now sat where she had previously been situated, and she breathed a sigh of relief as the sweet freedom of being able to take the dominant position was now almost within her grasp.

Immediately, Booth reached out for her, eager to be rewarded for his complicity. Brennan allowed him a couple of deep kisses, but as the whole cycle of foreplay started anew, she felt her frayed patience starting to wear threadbare once more. After the second kiss, she was just about ready to snap, feeling as though she was standing on the precipice, overlooking the land of mental illness that she feared she'd already been occupying because of him all week.. Pulling away from him, she shook her head. "Now," she told him, pushing her fisted hands into his chest. "Enough of that."

"Says who?" Booth asked, lifting his darkened eyes to meet hers and suddenly shooting her a toothy grin, unable to help himself since it was so unusual to see Brennan in a position where he could make her squirm.

Brennan was caught off guard by his almost monosyllabic, decidedly mildly-witty-at-best response. She was not in a mood to be amused or teased as she was a desperate, desperate woman in that moment.

"I told you," Brennan muttered. "I _warned_ you," Brennan amended. "I can't take this anymore, and you're going to help me do something about it before I go out of my metaphoric-goddamn-mind."

The sight of the always-rational and very compartmentalized Dr. Temperance Brennan rattled so badly by such her desire to satisfy such a basic human need was still highly amusing to Booth. Despite how badly he'd been longing to be anchored as deeply inside her as he could possibly be and how painful that longing had become with each passing minute, he took heart in maintaining control over his more base responses since he finally realized how truthful his partner was when Brennan told him that she seemed to be cracking at her inability to maintain control over hers.

Deciding that she had wasted enough time—as the pulsing between her legs had grown as bad, if not worse, than it had been when she had awakened that morning by Booth's untimely text message—Brennan moved quickly. She dropped where her hands were pulling at his shirt, and shifted off of his lap from where she had been straddling his thigh. She lifted her ass as her hands went to her skirt and quickly hiked the hem up to her waist, bunching it there in a ring of fabric. Moving very, very fast, Brennan then cruelly yanked at the waistband of her own panties and pushed them down as far as she could get them and wiggled free of them in a rather impressive move that Booth realized just how limber she had to be in order to actually pull it off as she had managed to do. Still watching her, a strange look grew in his eyes—one of half-bemused wonder and half-uncertain appreciation. However, Brennan was unaware of all of this as she failed to resume her earlier position of straddling his thigh. Instead, she widened her stance as she carefully positioned a knee on each side of his waist, attempting to give herself as much unimpeded access to a very pertinent portion of Booth's anatomy as was physically possible given their current location.

Quickly, her hands went to the buckle of his belt, and Brennan started to pull it free, following it by flicking the top two buttons on Booth's jeans free, and then a cruelly fast unzipping of the jeans—the last barrier to her final goal. Reaching into his jeans as he lifted himself off the seat just enough to allow her to slide them off his hips and onto his thighs, Brennan didn't even bother to cup him over the stretching of his boxers, but ruthlessly reached inside and pulled his stiff cock free.

"Enough," Brennan repeated, as she shook her head, almost oblivious to Booth's presence, given her one-track mind at the moment. She pumped his cock twice just to make certain it was in readiness for her as she breathed a contented sigh.

Watching her with a determined look that he had rarely seen on Brennan's face—a face that was no stranger to a myriad of determined looks—Booth was torn between three initial responses as he almost lost his mind when she touched him. First, he thought about being offended that he had suddenly become rather objectified. Secondly, a voice in the back of his brain asked how much he really minded being objectified if it was Brennan doing the objectification for the purposes of the two of them ending up finally ending the sweet torment the both seemed to have worked themselves up into over the past week. And, lastly—and perhaps most importantly—he was going out of his mind as each of her swift movements brought him closer to unintentionally letting go before he was ready to do so. _I haven't shot my wad like that since I was sixteen, Bones, and I have no intention of doing it now._

However, in the few seconds it took Booth to cycle through these responses in his head, Brennan had continued to move her hand around his cock, firmly sliding her grasp up and down to build a steady and pleasing friction. If she'd known how close he was to actually losing it, she probably would have stopped. Instead, her actions brought an instinctual response as one of his hands reached out and grabbed her wrist in the hope of slowing down her motion. However, not surprisingly, Brennan was faster than Booth in this particular instance. Later, as the post-coital haze faded and his powers of reason finally returned to his brain, Booth would wonder _how_ Brennan had actually managed to pull it off. But, in that moment, the blood flow to his lower regions having left his brain oxygen-starved, or at least ignored, it took Booth a minute-delay to process the meaning of the sensations he was feeling. And, by the time that he realized Brennan was on top of him, no longer fondling him with her hands, but poised to thrust herself down onto his stiff cock, Booth had to bite his lip from coming as soon as her warm folds enveloped him.

As soon as she impaled herself on his cock, Brennan felt a mental shriek of joy echo in her brain_—_so loudly, she would later wonder if she hadn't actually verbalized such a sound. In reality, a huge rush of air escaped her lungs as she pushed herself down as far as she could go until she was seated to the hilt. _Fuck_, a part of Brennan whispered. _God, he feels good. So much better than I remember. God, how is that possible? And, do I really care? Ummm…nope, I sure don't. God, Booth—fuck, fuck, fuck!_

"_Booooooth_—" she gasped. "Oh, God, Booth—"

And, then she started to move, only shifting her hips up a couple of times before she climaxed as violently fast as any time Brennan could remember coming since she had started masturbating as a teenager.

As soon as Booth felt the tell-tale clench of her slick walls tightening around him, he used every bit of willpower he had left to keep himself from allowing himself to come as hard and as fast as apparently Brennan had just done and just barely managed to hang on for no reason but his own self respect. While biting his lip, literally drawing blood to retain control of the urge to just let go as a large part of him so desperately wanted to do, Booth smiled smugly. _Point to Booth. That makes the score 4-2 in my favor, Bones. _A voice inside him rebuked him for so crassly keeping score.

Her breathing still ragged, it took Brennan a couple of minutes to return to her rational mind_—_or, at least as rational as she'd been in the past week since this entire situation with Booth had changed so drastically. She remained absolutely still, Booth still inside her, as she came down off of the wonderful feeling of relief that she _finally _had achieved after one of the most tortuous weeks she had ever experienced. And, then, _it_ suddenly pierced through the happy post-orgasmic haze that had settled over Brennan's brain. A crucial fact registered in her psyche as she suddenly realized that she could still feel him inside her_—_his cock stiff and rigid and feeling fucking fantastic_, _and that _that_ sensation only meant one thing: Brennan had obviously come, but Booth was still hard_—_meaning, he hadn't.

Pulling back slightly from him, Brennan released her hands from where she had been grasping his shoulders with an ironclad grip. Taking the open palms of her hands, she brushed them across his shoulders and up his neck. Booth shivered at her touch, particularly when her hands came to rest on either side of his firm jaw. Her eyes meeting his, Brennan smiled a small smile, finally starting to feel a bit more in control as she said softly, "What are you waiting for, Booth?"

He stared at her in that moment, a look of amused disbelief on his face as he said, "Really, Bones?"

"What?"

"Oh, come on, Bones," he groaned, shifting a bit of her weight in his lap. "You're killing me here—absolutely fucking killing me,"

Tilting her head at hers, she smiled, some of the madness from her eyes now gone out of her as the greenish-blue, while still bright, had dimmed to a slightly less dark color than it had been a few moments before to reflect her body's newly sated physical outlook.. "What is it?"

"I'm just deciding," Booth grunted. "If I should feel offended by being used like any stiff dick that was handy."

Brennan laughed in that moment, the throaty chuckle that he remembered so well, and as she threw her head back and laughed, she looked at him with an incredibly sweet smile. "I'm sorry," she murmured, leaning in to kiss his chin. "I apologize."

"For what?" Booth gritted through clenched teeth.

"For making you feel objectified," Brennan murmured, reaching up and stroking her index fingers along the collar of his T-shirt. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so selfish, but I was getting more than a bit desperate there, Booth. I'm sorry if, in my distraction, I've left you languishing without the proper attention you deserve."

"Damn straight," Booth grunted with a sharp nod at her.

Lifting herself up off of him, Brennan leaned in to cover his mouth with a kiss as he opened it to protest. "I'm sorry," she murmured again between kisses. "But, if you can be patient just a little while longer, I promise you won't be sorry."

"_Hmmmmmppphh," _Booth replied.

Brennan, meanwhile, smiled as she rubbed her palms over the round musculature of his shoulders and then brought her hands to the hem of his T-shirt. Tugging at the soft material, Booth eyed her, but said nothing as she let her hands run underneath it, skimming the hard surface of his abdominal muscles. "You feel so good," Brennan murmured. "Inside, outside, it doesn't matter. All of it. Everything. Everywhere. You feel so good everywhere, Booth."

She grabbed the hem of his T-shirt, and he raised his arms as she quickly yanked it over his head and tossed it on the floor. Glancing down, she raised one thigh up off of him so that she was no longer straddling him. "I'm thinking," she began slowly, "that it might be more comfortable if your pants were off, and achieving that goal would be a lot easier if you kicked off those shoes, Booth?"

"What's going through that dangerous brain of yours, Bones?" Booth muttered, as he began to kick off his shoes and comply with her request.

She grinned as she said, "If you can wait about three more minutes, you'll find out first-hand, I promise. And, you'll like it. I swear you will."

"Uh huh," Booth said, lifting his ass off the seat as he yanked his boxers off his hips and slid them, along with this jeans, down his legs before he kicked those away, too.

As she watched Booth finish getting undressed, Brennan quickly unhooked her own belt and tossed it on the floor. Yanking her shirt up off and over her head, she then quickly unbuttoned her skirt and pushed it off her waist. When she looked over at Booth again, she could see he was naked and eying her with an appreciative hunger reflected in his own eyes. Clad in only her bra, Brennan watched as Booth crooked his finger at her.

"Your three minutes are up, Bones," he growled at her. Smiling, she scooted back over towards him and happily resumed her prior position. His hands came up to her back, and using his index fingers, he ran his fingers up under the elastic of the bra's back. "You don't happen to have a blue bra and panty set by chance, do you, Bones?"

Quirking an eyebrow at him, and despite the surprise that was clearly evident on her face, Brennan didn't miss a beat as she countered, "Light blue or dark blue?"

"Dark blue," Booth said, his voice thick with desire.

"No," Brennan said after a few seconds. "I've got a light blue set...almost a kind of periwinkle color. But, dark blue? Like a royal blue or navy? No, I don't think I have one of those. Why?"

"We're going shopping," Booth suddenly growled. "I'm...I'm going to buy you a set. Dark blue."

"Why?" Brennan said, linking her hands behind his head.

"Just...I want to," Booth said slowly, suddenly not certain how much he wanted to confess to her.

Brennan, however, knew him better than that and sensed there was a deeper meaning in his question and subsequent statement. As she brushed her tits across his bare chest, despite the fact that they were still restrained by her bra, he still hissed in pleasure at the movement. "Come on, Booth. Tell me the real reason why. You know I'm going to find out eventually—"

"_Oh, fuuuuuccck, Bones,_" Booth groaned at her action. When she pulled away to give him a bit of breathing space, he sighed. "Fine. My dreams. In my dreams, you've been wearing this dark blue number that gets me so fucking hard even just thinking about it—"

At this, Brennan let a hand fall down from behind his neck and creep between them. As she stroked him lightly, she laughed and said, "Somehow I don't think that's a problem right now, but okay." Brennan chuckled as she leaned into kiss him. However, she stopped mid-kiss and mid-pump, paused and asked, "Was it satin or something else?"

"Lace," Booth groaned, and was instantly rewarded as she resumed fisting him. Not that he didn't enjoy her touch, Booth suddenly became anxious that if she wasn't careful, close as he was to spilling already, that he was finally going to lose it. "Lace...and mesh."

"Hmmm," Brennan said, releasing him from her hand slowly as she gave him appreciative look. "I didn't know you had such an eye for details with things like that, Booth."

"When it's about you and sex, Bones, I remember _everything_," Booth told her simply. He then brought his hands to the front of her bra and cupped her breasts through the thin fabric. "However, I wouldn't mind being reminded of these—" His fingers creeping over the edge of the cups, he quickly brushed his callused thumbs over her nipples, making Brennan take a swift breath.

She closed her eyes for a moment as he played with her before she said, "So, you remember everything about me and sex, Booth?"

"Uh huh," he murmured as he pressed his face into the valley between her breasts. "Everything. But, just to be certain—" His hands skillfully reached around her back and unhooked the bra. Bringing his hands back to the front, he moved his head as he pulled it away and tossed it on the floor. Quickly, he brought his lips to top of one of her nipples and began to suck gently.

"_Oooooh_," Brennan moaned. She closed her eyes once more and felt a familiar quiver begin to build again. "_Oh, Boooooooth_—"

Pulling away, he gave her a lop-sided grin as he said, "_Mmmmmmm, _yeah. So I'd say that's about what I remembered."

"And," Brennan said, lifting her gaze to meet his as she swallowed once, licked her lips, and then gathered enough resolve to shift so that she was positioned just over the tip of his cock. "What else do wouldn't you mind being reminded about, Booth?"

He allowed himself a moment to enjoy the sweet, agonizing pressure as he stroked the tip of his penis against her entrance lightly without actually pressing forward. However, when Brennan twisted her hips, Booth reflexively thrust upwards at the same time, and she groaned loudly as he impaled her.

"This...oh, God, Bones," he moaned, wrapping his fingers around the round swell of her hips as he lifted her off of him ever so gently before pulling her down as he thrust hard into her again. He leaned his head back as he pumped up and into her with a vigorous roll of his hips. "_Ohhhhhh,_" he murmured, grinding against her with as much sweet friction as he could bear. "You're so tight, baby," he hissed as a flash of pleasure surged up his spine, nearly causing him to shatter at that moment. Booth squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to hold his focus despite the pulses of ecstasy that raked his mind. He turned his gaze back to her as he bent his head down, taking one of her nipples between his lips as he continued to thrust into her. He rolled his tongue in circles over the pebbled surface of her nipple, pausing every few seconds to nibble lightly on the point, then sucking between his lips before releasing the suction and soothing her flesh again with delicate, flicking strokes of his tongue. She threw her head back, drawing in a deep breath through her teeth and threaded her fingers through his thick brown hair as he continued to pump into her. Each time he sucked, he felt her tighten around him. As the pair fell into what was becoming a deliriously comfortable rhythm, Booth pulled his attention from her breasts and brought his hands up to her face.

"God, Bones," he whispered again into her mouth as he covered her lips with his.

She opened her mouth with a welcome smile, and he felt her tongue slide across his lips and behind his teeth. The hum of sensations_—_the thrill of driving into her, exploring her delicious heat with each thrust at the same time that her tongue explored inside of him_—_drove him nearly mad at the pleasure of it. After just a few more thrusts, when Booth felt himself start to spend, he felt a sweet oblivion fall over him as he leaned once more into Brennan's welcoming warmth, feeling as if he had finally come home. He felt her moan as her eager tongue battled his, and then a tightening around him followed by a light flutter as she shattered around him once more. Then, the world seemed to collapse around him and the only sound he could hear was the roar of blood in his ears and her soft, satisfied moans. In that moment, he pulled away from her kiss and opened his mouth, calling out her name as he pressed once more up and into her, emptying himself into her as he held her tightly against him until the last pulses of his release faded.

"_Bones_..."

Brennan, a mere step behind him, groaned into his mouth as she was rewarded with a second climax. In her second orgasm, she didn't call out his name as she had in the first, but merely moaned into the crook of his neck.

And, in that minute, as the two individuals finally found some common ground, the mental and physical desires that had both kept the pair in conflict fell away as they finally stood in the same place, at the same time, their current feeling cognitive dissonance finally abating if only for that brief span of time as they held one another in each other's arms.

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><p><strong>-TBC-<strong>

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><p><strong>AN2**: So, there we are. Now, the next question is: was that hot or what? But, wait—we're still not done yet! Sanity seems to have returned to Brennan, but what about Booth and that nasty streak of conscience he only seems to be able to shut up for small periods of time? Coming up next: the talk B&B have always really needed to have...and maybe a bit more guh-type fun. Or not. Who knows? Well, wait...oh, that's right—we do. So, do you want us to share our wonderful knowledge all the more quickly? Then, snap to and let us know how we did... ::stares at 'review' button below:: Go ahead... you know you want to... ;)

I'm very happy that everyone who shared felt they enjoyed my take on the obligatory Bones slew of fan fic that comes out this time of year. I know you all have many potential options that can satisfy your B&B holiday jones, so I do thank those of you who are choosing to sample my humble offerings. And, now without further adieu… it's time for another confession.~


	7. Ch 17: Balance Theory

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.

**A/N:** The standard curt rigamarole continues: if you want to see summaries, warnings, etc. please see one of the earlier chapters where you may simply click the back button to one of Part 2's earlier chapters and be amused by their wit (and we do suggest you do at some point, since we do think they are somewhat amusing). However, because I'm still a pessimist, and like to keep our bases covered, I still am insisting on the standard disclaimer about feedback: constructive criticism is still both welcome and encouraged, but I have my pet dragon on standby, so, save both your time and ours and don't say something unless it's really worth saying.

Once again, we have been humbled and gratified by the flood of reviews and feedback. Many thanks to everyone who succumbed and left a note for us—especially to those who informed us that the monkey and I have apparently become pushers of crack!fic. Oh, well, that's not _that _surprising—we always knew it was just a matter of time. ;)

So, as the monkey is so found of quoting, now that the dam has broken, it's time for both B&B to pay the piper. What will happen next? Well, scroll down to find out_..._~

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><p><strong>Chapter 17 - Balance Theory <strong>

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><p>When Brennan became aware of the physical world around her once more, two thoughts registered in her mind. The first thought was that she was completely naked, in the backseat of Booth's SUV, the windows no doubt fogged up by now as if the car was parked at some illicit trysting point well-known to teenagers who wished to engage in primary courtship rituals. The second thing that Brennan realized was that, for the first time in over a week, she felt as if her rational mind had finally started to work once more. Sighing in relief, she felt a warm flush of happiness flood through her as if she were welcoming back an old friend that had been gone too long. Still smiling, the next thing that her brain realized as her glance traveled down was that she was still collapsed against her partner's body. Booth, just as naked as she was, was pinned beneath her. Given the slight awkwardness of their position from a non-sexual perspective, Brennan moved to get up off of him. However, the hands that still rested on each of her hips refused to let her go. Slowly, the same mental haze that had clouded his eyes seemed to be falling away, much like water as it dripped down and disappeared into the drain. But, one thing was patently clear to Brennan, even as reason returned to each of them—she had tried to move, to put distance between them once more, and <em>this <em>time Booth was refusing to let her do so.

After several seconds, when she turned her head to gaze at him in askance, he finally managed to speak after shaking his head lightly. "No," he said quietly, his throat still thick and rough with the slowly receding tsunami of desire that had thrown them both into the maelstrom that had overwhelmed them both for a short period of time—she, because of the desperation that had prompted her to jump in to seek relief, and he, because he'd willingly follow her to the ends of the earth and beyond. Swallowing once, Booth held her gaze intently as he said quietly, "Not yet."

Not sure as to why he was making such a appeal, but considering what it was, who was asking, and that the request came in the context of what had just transpired between the pair, the sane Brennan realized it was a rather small request from him the grand scheme of things. Deciding it was a simple way in which she could indulge him, she stopped moving. She allowed Booth to pull her more tightly against him, his arms wrapping around her waist, as he leaned his head against her shoulder once she'd stopped trying to move.

Moving his mouth towards her ear, Booth whispered, "This is insanity."

After a second, Brennan rolled her head so that it was even closer to his mouth, his lips brushing her ear lobe. Taking a breath, she sighed in contented accord. "Madness," Brennan agreed softly, as she moved her head so that his lips touched her once more. _I want him_, Brennan thought to herself. _I mean, I know I wanted him before, but now_—_I was a fool to try to deny it even_—_I want him, and I want him __now__ even more than I did before_—_but, the question is now...what do we do with that?_

Although he had only uttered less than a half-dozen words, Brennan could still feel the slow inhale and exhale of Booth's breath on her neck. She felt more and more intimately tied to him with each sensation that registered in her mind. His warm breath fell against the softness of her skin, causing the tiny hairs sat the juncture of her ear and her neck to stand up straight on end.

Brennan swallowed once as she started to feel herself become lost in the combined physical and emotional sensations that the mere feeling of his breath on her skin evoked. Content for the moment, she relaxed against him, not moving to pull away as he'd asked of her. _If he doesn't want me to, then why should I?_

The pair sat there like that, merely enjoying the feel of one another in an incredibly intimate moment in a long strong of intimate moments that had bound them to one another since Booth had reached over to kiss her in the front seat of the SUV. The intimacy of the entire situation was not lost on either of them, nor was the fact of how much each one enjoyed it.

At last, Booth took a deeper breath, signaling that it was now time to preempt their idyll for the realities of what their act symbolized in the greater context beyond the physical intimacy of that time and place. Pulling away from her just slightly, no more than a few inches to let her know the significance of his next words, he maintained the earlier tone of his voice as best he could as he attempted to bind the two moments. "The insanity...it's—the insanity's gotta stop," he said after a minute or two of silence. "I don't regret what we just did, Bones—"

"Neither do I," she said softly. "I've wanted you for a very long time, Booth."

At her words, Booth couldn't help but smile. "Right back at ya, Bones," he said with an awkward laugh. His smiled then faded a bit as he said, "But, the want—it's not enough. You've got to get a grip on things because the insanity isn't...you're not the only one going crazy. It's not just killing you—it's killing us, Bones. It's killing me, and it's killing _us_."

Tilting her head to look at him, she nodded her understanding. "I know that, Booth. Believe me. I know that more than you probably even realize. I just—I don't know what to do about that," Brennan admitted, her voice tiny and small in that unguarded moment. "I've been trying to figure out how to handle it all week, but every time I think I've got one thing figured out, something else happens, proves me wrong, spins me upside down, and the whole damn thing starts all over again." She stopped, shaking her head, "I've been trying—I just don't know what to do. If...if I did, I would—in the space of a heartbeat. I just don't know what to do anymore."

Booth considered her words carefully and then nodded. "I know, Bones. But, we can't keep doing the same thing over and over again. Wash, rinse, repeat. That's—"

"Insane," Brennan completed his sentence for him in a very quiet voice. "Crazy. Complete insanity. Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome when the same thing keeps happening—it's just...insane."

"Yeah," Booth nodded. "It is."

"What do we do about that?" Brennan asked. "I don't know what to do, Booth. I've tried to solve this problem, to figure out a solution, and I thought I'd never say this, but I think I might've finally found a quandary that my brain can't solve. So, tell me—please, tell me what to do about this."

At her words, Booth chuckled lightly. Reaching up, he touched her hair, slightly damp and sticking to her forehead from the combined efforts of their earlier physical exertions. Running his fingers through it, he smiled at her as he answered, "That's part of the problem, right there, Bones."

"What?" she asked.

"It's your approach, Bones," he told her. "It's all in the approach."

She arched an eyebrow at him as she said, "I don't comprehend what you're trying to tell me, Booth."

Letting his hand fall away from her face, he said, "We're not a math equation or a science experiment or some grand conundrum to be solved, Bones. You can't apply logic and reason to us. That's why you've been going nuts this past week. Logic and reason don't apply when it comes down to how you feel about someone. And, I've gotta tell you, Bones—the way I feel about you...there's no way for me to quantify it or describe it or even make sense of it. I can try, but I'm never going to be able to be successful because it's more than that. Do you understand?"

Brennan stopped for a minute and considered his words. After a little time had passed, she slowly met his questioning gaze and nodded, "You know, our lives would've been a _lot _easier this week if you'd been kind enough to point that out to me a week ago, Booth."

"Well..." Chuckling at her words, he shrugged. "Sorry about that. Better late than never, right?"

Narrowing her eyes at his quip, Brennan refrained from rolling them in annoyance at his trite joke, and held her tongue.

Booth gave her a peck on the cheek in appreciation. After a few more seconds, the levity had subsided and he then continued in a more serious tone of voice. "All joking aside, Bones," he said. "I didn't know I needed to tell you about it. I thought—I thought you didn't care about it even if I did. You just...when you left me last week, you just seemed so casual—" He stopped, and then shook his head again. "You have no idea how many times I've played your last words in my head this last week. It's been like on a continuous loop in my brain."

"Which ones?" Brennan asked, suddenly curious.

"When you said that you would just let yourself out and that you'd see me later," Booth replied. Shaking his head slightly, he added, "I can't tell you, Bones—those words? They were so friggin'...casual. It was like we'd just finished lunch at the diner or having drinks at the Founding Fathers instead of having spent the entire night in my bed having sex. It..." Booth paused, uncertain how much to share with her, but knowing he needed to confess it if only for his own sake, he continued. "It cut, Bones—when you just left like that? It felt like you'd gutted me, threw me on a spit and just left me there to rot."

At his heartfelt confession, Brennan felt a pang of guilt, and she couldn't help it as she looked away and whispered, "I'm sorry." She stopped for a few seconds before she added, "I just... with everything that's happened, with everything that's changed, I didn't know how to make sense of it beyond how it affected _me_, Booth. And, I know that's an incredibly selfish thing for me to admit, but it's the truth, and I'm sorry, but with what was happening, I couldn't see much beyond how things were for me. It's not an excuse, and I know that...just an explanation."

Shrugging, Booth gave her a small smile a she said, "I know, Bones. And, it's okay—"

"Is it?" Brennan asked, the hesitancy clear in her voice.

Booth nodded. "Yeah, it is—as long as we know that we've got to stop the insanity and we actually try to do something about it this time."

Brennan felt a flutter of anxiety in her stomach at the turn their conversation had taken, and she knew her body had tensed as a result of the spike of fear she'd felt emerge at his words. Booth seemed to feel it too, and immediately he shook his head at her reaction.

"Don't do that," Booth warned her lightly. "God, Bones..._please_ don't do that."

Slowly, even though Brennan already knew the answer to her question, she met his gaze as she asked, "Don't do what, Booth?"

"Don't get scared like that," he replied instantly. "It's—"

"I can't help it if I'm afraid, Booth," Brennan interrupted him suddenly.

The change in her tone was clear as she instinctively tried to pull away again when she shifted in his lap. However, once more Booth wouldn't let her go. He held her firm as she struggled against him, the struggle ever so slight when she realized he wasn't going to let her go again. Taking several deep breaths, she tried to calm herself. Booth waited patiently for her to recover her composure, just holding her firmly, reminding her of his presence, but not encroaching any more than necessary on the time and space she needed to grapple with her thoughts and feelings. At last, Brennan looked at him and spoke.

"I can't help it," she finally offered meekly when she ceased in her efforts to get away from him.

Holding her tight against him until she stopped struggling, when Brennan began to speak again, her body relaxing slightly, Booth squeezed her reassuringly in his embrace. "Bones, you didn't let me finish," he chastised her slightly.

"Sorry," Brennan repeated again, this time a bit sheepishly. "It's a hard habit to break—in more ways then one."

He kissed her again on the cheek as he said, "I know. But, cut it out, huh?"

She nodded once, and he took that as a sign to continue.

"What I was going to say is it's okay to feel scared, Bones. But, the part you've got to stop is letting the fear get the better of you," he explained. "You can't let your fear of how you feel—all wrapped up in excuse after excuse like you've used this week about everything from the control issues to thinking you're going to lose me—you can't let that dominate you, huh? Because, in the end, we both know how that turns out—you just try to put as much space as you can between you and me when you try to shut down, and that's not gonna work this time. You can't bolt as far away from me as you can get each time you get scared. That's the part that's got to stop—the running, okay? You can't run anymore."

Brennan stared at him for several seconds and then flushed in shame as she said softly, "But, I-I…I don't know how to do that."

"You can start," Booth told her as he moved his hands to seek out hers. Interlacing their fingers, he smiled as he completed the thought, "You can start by letting me help you."

She turned her head slightly, and looking at him, she said, "I've spent the past week feeling like I was cracking into a million pieces, Booth. Even though I know that such a thing's not possible, how I've felt is what I imagine it would feel like if such a thing were physically possible for a person to crack into that many individual pieces…that's what I've felt all week. I don't know what this is, or how it's happening, but I do know I can't control it, and it's been making so unlike myself that as scared as I was before—when I was just dealing with the mere idea of everything—now? Now, that I'm actually dealing with the experience of it all?"

She stopped, letting her words trail off as she shook her head.

"I'm even more afraid right in this very minute than I was an hour ago, Booth. _So much_ is changing _so quickly_, and it's just going to keep changing and changing so fast, and I already felt like it was overwhelming me. I'm...I'm losing myself in it, I know it. And, I-I…I've started to think that maybe I was really going crazy—"

"Hey, it's okay," he said, his voice soft and low. "You're not going crazy." They both paused for a moment, and he could see the doubt in her eyes so that he knew he needed to reassure her once again. "You're not going crazy, Bones. I promise."

"How can you say that?" she asked.

"Because," Booth chuckled. "If you're going crazy, then so am I." He paused and then smiled at her as he added, "I already told you this, Bones—you're not the only one."

"I'm not?' she repeated her earlier question.

Shaking his head, he replied with a smile, "Everything that you've just described, Bones? That's normal…_this_ is normal—completely normal."

"Then, why am I—"

"You're just not dealing with it well," Booth said, smiling at her as he ignored her interruption. "Since it's emotional—and we all know how well you deal always deal with feelings, Bones, even when you're at your best." He quirked an eyebrow at her as he said, "Frankly, you suck at the whole emotional thing."

"That's true," Brennan admitted. "But, I'm trying, Booth."

"I know," he said with a firm nod. "You're trying, and, I'm so proud of you for doing that I can't even tell you. But, the point is, Bones, dealing with _these _kind of feelings?" He paused and smiled sweetly. "Well, you've never done it before, so you need some help."

"I know that," she said. "I can't even explain to you how many times I wanted to come and talk to you because I know you'd be able to make things better, but I couldn't because every time we saw each other, something else happened, and we either started arguing, or I'd get jealous, or I'd think that you didn't care about me, or about what happened between us—"

"Never," Booth said. "That was never the case, Bones. I never didn't care, okay?"

"I know that _now_," she said. "But, at the time, I just couldn't figure out a way to talk to you."

"Well," he said. "We're talking now...so, here it is. You need help with this whole emotions/not going crazy thing—"

"Yes?" Brennan prompted him.

"So, since you need help, and I like to think I'm a pretty good guy when it comes to helping out with these types of things, then—" Booth let some of the teasing tone leave his voice when he spoke next. "Let me help you," he said gently.

Brennan considered his words for several seconds and then tilted her head at him as she said, "And, if I let you help me?" she said slowly. "Then what? How do I signify my acceptance of your assistance?"

"Well_, _you can start by helping me to show that we're going for a different outcome here, alright?" Booth told her honestly.

Pursing her lips, Brennan said, "I don't understand, Booth. What do you mean?"

"I mean that you have a golden opportunity, Bones, right now." He smiled at her and loosened one of their hands so that he could lift his free hand to brush the back of it along the side of her cheek. "You're scared, and I know you want to run, but don't. Please. " Booth stopped, glanced at the strong downpour of rain that was still pelting the Tahoe's roof and windows without mercy and nodded. "Look—it's raining, and it doesn't make any sense for you to go back to the lab or your place this late. My place is closer. So…come home with me," he offered. He raised his eyebrows expectantly and looked at her with wide, soft brown eyes.

Brennan returned his gaze as she considered his request. After a moment or two of thought, to clarify it, she asked, "A sign of me not running is if I agree to come home with you?'

"Yeah," Booth said, a grin breaking across his lips. He then nodded at her and added, "It kinda shows that you're not running away from us. You coming back with me is sorta proof that you're going in the opposite direction, Bones—not away from us, or away from me—but rather going towards it this time…coming towards me."

"And, if I agreed to return with you, then what would happen next?" Brennan asked slowly.

Booth watched her face and felt a warmth spread through his chest. _I can't believe it. She's actually considering coming home with me_, he thought. Eager to lock her down and seal the deal, Booth stroked his thumb across her cheekbone and traced the square line of her jaw with two fingers. Her skin was soft and warm, and she didn't flinch from his touch. "You'd spend the night," he told her after a few more seconds, "and not bolt at the first sign of a normal day starting again like you did last week, Bones." She pursed her lips and he saw a flicker behind her pale green eyes as she thought about his words. He then told her in a very quiet voice, "We're getting a second chance to do this right, Bones. Second chances don't come around very often."

Booth felt a slight burning in his eyes and fought the tears that threatened to well up in his eyes as he saw her struggling to make a decision that could either damn or save both of them.. He cupped her jaw in the palm of his hand and smiled at her again.

"Bones," he said, his voice soft and gentle as he pleaded with her. "I…I don't want to screw this up. I don't want us to miss our chance again."

Angela's afternoon pronouncement rang in Brennan's head as she weighed Booth's words and felt her skin tingle under his delicate touch.

"_A word to the wise?" Angela smiled and shook her head. "The way you've been acting the last few days_—_and Booth, too, while we're at it_—_well, you both need to get your shit together ASAP."_

"_Why?"_

"_So you can get things straight enough between you two that you can do whatever it was that you didn't do right the first time and fix it so that you can do it again pronto. But, please for the good of the entire D.C. Metro area, do it right this time, huh?"_

Booth's eyes waited for Brennan, patiently as he almost always did in the end, and he prayed he'd made a convincing enough case that she'd make the right choice this time. _God, please don't let her run. I don't think I can stand it if she does that again_. He felt his own breaths rise and fall shallowly as he awaited her response, stroking her cheek with his thumb as he reflected on three and a half years of missed opportunities with her.

Seeing the hope and patience in his eyes was finally enough as Brennan slowly nodded her head and made her choice. Looking at Booth, she then said some of the most wonderful words he'd ever heard her say in all the time he'd known her.

"Okay," she said softly. "I think I can do that if you think I can."

Not even realizing he'd been holding his breath, Booth exhaled in relief and a wide, toothy grin spread across his face.

"Me, Bones?" he said, lifting his head to kiss her. His lips met hers as she opened her mouth to him, tentatively, as his tongue slid into her mouth for a brief but deep kiss. "Bones, I've always thought you could do anything you set your mind to—all you had to do was make the decision to try."

He kissed her again, savoring the taste of her once more as she kissed him back then pulled her lips away from his.

"Then, consider this as my notice that I've decided to try," Brennan said, a small, very tiny smile cracking at the edges of her mouth. "Let's…I don't want to miss my chance, Booth. _Our _chance. So…I agree. Let's go for a different outcome."

For several long moments, Booth stared at her, not certain that he'd heard her correctly. She held his gaze expectantly, and she then punctuated her agreement with a couple of short rapid nods.

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

With a soft smile, Booth laughed as he brought his other hand up from her hip and, cradling her face between his hands, pulled her mouth to his again and kissed her, pouring every bit of the hope and relief he felt into that kiss as their mouths came together, grasping and eager. He loved kissing her.

Their lips parted again as she looked down with a sheepish smile before he took a minute and rested his forehead lightly against hers. "_Uhhh, _Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?" he asked, the dazed euphoria clearly evident in his voice as much as the hard practicality was present in hers.

"Not to state the obvious, but if caught by someone in our current situation, it might be quite difficult to convincingly demonstrate temporary insanity as a reliable explanation or justification for the fact that, well, we're both completely naked," she said with a gesture of their naked and intertwined bodies. "_Uhhhhh_, we…we need to get dressed, Booth, I think—and the sooner the better," she said. Then, pausing, Brennan added, a slight teasing in her voice, "Since this _is _an official U.S. government vehicle, and we're supposed to be on 'official government business,' right, Booth?" she teased him slightly with a throaty chuckle. At hearing her laugh, the last threads of tension seemed to unravel from the muscles of Booth's neck and shoulders.

"You're right, Bones," he said with a sardonic glint in his eye. "When you're right, you're right."

She paused, then tilted her head to look at him as she said, "You know, I think I really like it when you say that."

"What's that?" Booth asked with a smile still on his face.

"The part about me being right," Brennan said as she lifted herself off of him, swung her leg over his lap and reached down to pick her clothes off of the floor of the back seat of the Tahoe. "You don't do that a lot."

"I can't make a habit of it, Bones," Booth said. "Your ego's big enough as is," he added with a playful wink.

As Brennan reached towards the door to grab her bra, she paused and looked at Booth, who sat there, silent and still as if transfixed. His bottom lip twitched as he watched her, and for several moments they looked at each other with nothing but happiness reflected in each set of eyes.

Then, his phone rang.

The first thought that crossed Booth's mind was that he was not sure where his phone even was as its annoying ring shattered the intimate atmosphere they'd created by having sex, exchanging emotional confessions, and deciding to 'go for a different outcome.' Finally, squinting as he listened for the source of the irksome sound, Booth tried to remember if the phone was in his jeans, sitting in one of the cupholders in the front of the truck, or perhaps had fallen on the floor somewhere in their earlier physical maneuvers. The second thought that crossed his now-attentive mind was that he was sitting naked, sweaty and sticky in the back of his FBI-issued vehicle as his FBI-issued phone rang, surely with an FBI caller on the other end of the line. _Oh, fuck. _Booth saw a faint glow from the Tahoe's center console and quickly leaned forward, snatching his phone from the driver's side cupholder. He took a quick, deep breath and answered.

"Booth—"

Brennan watched him as she fastened her bra and pulled her cream-colored top over her head. A smirk flashed across Booth's lips as he saw her naked below the waist as a voice chirped at him on the other end of the line.

"Really?" he asked, arching an eyebrow at whatever the caller had just said. "Huh. You're kidding…"

Brennan cocked her head, unable to quite make out what the caller had said, then tossed him his boxer shorts, which he draped over his crotch with a self-conscious grin as he nodded and listened to the caller.

"No, understood—"

She picked up his gray T-shirt and dark blue button-down shirt and tossed them onto the bench seat on the other side of him.

"Okay, so... tomorrow, then—?" he spoke into the phone, but his eyes had never left Brennan's pretty form.

She sat down on the bench seat to Booth's left, slid into her still-damp panties, and then pulled on her denim skirt, rolling her eyes gently as Booth looked over and winked at her. She leaned forward and zipped up the back of her skirt, then scanned the barely-lit floor around his feet looking for brown leather belt and her pumps. _Didn't I kick those off in the front seat?_.

"Right. Yes. Understood—" he tilted his head in response to the caller's words and moved his leg to the side, kicking the missing belt to her as she nodded with a smile.

"Great, alright—" he nodded once, his smile becoming wider as he looked at Brennan.

"Yeah, thanks. You, too. Goodnight—"

Mentally shrieking with glee, Booth pressed the "end" button, hung up and tossed the phone onto the driver's seat. He grin got larger as he put on his boxer shorts, shaking his head and laughing as he did so. Looking over at Brennan, he could tell she had a questioning look on her face, and he smiled at her.

"We're off the hook," he explained.

"What?" she said, the look of uncertainty that had crossed her face morphing into clear confusion. "I don't understand what that means."

He laughed again, amazed at how random she could be in which colloquialisms she knew and which ones she didn't.

"Apparently, Robinson _didn't _go into work today," Booth explained as he pulled on his blue jeans. "He got picked up for DUI a couple of hours ago in Charlottesville, Virginia when he blew a .09 after being pulled over for rolling through a red light. Charlottesville PD booked him and have him in custody. He's to be arraigned tomorrow afternoon, and Caroline's going to contact the Albemarle County prosecutor's office first thing in the morning to see about having him kept in custody, for a few days at least, so we can talk to him." He fastened his Cocky belt buckle with a vague smile as he thought about how desperately Brennan had unbuckled him earlier.

"What was he doing down in Charlottesville?" Brennan asked. "Aside from the obvious," she added with a smirk as she watched her partner finish dressing.

Booth shrugged as he pulled his T-shirt over his head. "I'm not sure, Bones, but the fact that the University of Virginia is there—and James Madison University is just a short drive away—sure makes me suspicious, given that we've got two dead co-eds laying there on the slab over at the Jeffersonian."

Narrowing her eyes, Brennan nodded. They held each other's gaze for a minute and then she nodded at him. "So, what now?" Brennan asked. "I mean, tonight."

The corner of Booth's lips curved into another smile as he tilted his head at her. "That was dispatch advising us to stand down." He observed the blank look on her face. "We're done for the night," he explained as he slid his well-toned arms into his dark blue shirt. "Let's get outta here, huh?"

Brennan nodded and awkwardly climbed back into the front passenger seat, retrieving Booth's phone from his seat before he followed her. He glanced over at her, flashed his eyebrows with a smile, then turned the key as the Tahoe roared back to life.

"Ready?" he asked her.

"I guess so," she said with a nervous smile.

"Come on," he said as he shifted the SUV into gear. "I don't know about you, but it's been a long day, and I'm ready to go home."

Lifting her gaze to his, Brennan held it for a minute and then nodded her agreement once more, causing Booth, once again, to smile, as he drove the SUV out of the alley and began to guide it through the rain and back to his apartment.

As the Tahoe pulled out of the alley onto the empty street, rounding the corner on their way to the freeway, neither Booth nor Brennan noticed that a light had finally clicked on in the third floor window of the apartment known to be the residence of one Mark G. Robinson of Takoma Park.

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><p><strong>-TBC-<strong>

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><p><strong>AN2**: How's that for a heart-to-heart? Brennan's trying so hard, isn't she? Booth seems unusually happy. And, for those worried we'd dropped the case fic angle, never fear...what did cause that light to go on in such a dramatically timed moment? Hmmmm... anyway, up next: B&B return to his apartment in quite a different way than they did a week before, Brennan's still stressing out, and Booth's got to figure out a way to make good on his offer to help her. ::blinks:: No, not necessary in _that _way. Come on, people. Get your mind out of the gutter. ::blinks again:: Okay, maybe he can multitask and help her in more than one way and so everyone's minds should reside in the gutter, i.e., the Cave of Smutmonkey Awesomeness.. Needless to say, we're not quite done yet—with either the story or the hot stuff. So, if you want to know what comes next, pop that proverbial quarter in the machine a la your reviews, do your thing, and let's get shaking. Yes, we're still staring at that review button. ::points at 'review' button below:: Come on... move the mouse there and click it... you _still _know you want to... ;)


	8. Ch 18: No Longer Keeping Score

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.

**A/N:** So as not to obfuscate the situation (a shout!out to those of our readers who rock the complex vocab—that reuse was just for you!), I think I'll just say on with the show since everyone already knows the drill by now (or, at the very least, you should, re: summaries, long author notes, flamers, etc.)...

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><p><strong>Chapter 18 - No Longer Keeping Score<strong>

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><p>By the time that the pair arrived at the front door to Booth's apartment, the two of them were completely drenched. The evening storm had continued to rage during the entire time drive back from Takoma Park to Booth's apartment. By the time the partners entered his building, each and every piece of clothing they were wearing was soaked through, hair plastered to each of their faces, and water dripping off their bodies only to puddle on the welcome mat that adorned Booth's entry way. However, despite the fact that they seemed like they had just been outdoors in a monsoon, Booth and Brennan were as happy and as unconcerned as any two such persons who found themselves in such a situation might react.<p>

"Here," Booth said, his voice light and exuberant as he smiled at Brennan when he extended the battered black umbrella he had been holding in his hand in her direction. "Can you take this for a minute? I need to get my keys—"

Nodding, Brennan returned the smile before she looked at the umbrella as she shook her head ruefully and took it. She stared at it for a few seconds as he juggled his keys, and then said, "I told you that you needed to get a new umbrella, Booth. This one was at the point of ceasing to be functional as of about two dozen rain storms ago, I think, at the very least."

Shooting her a playfully offended look, Booth said, "Hey, Bones. I'll have you know that that umbrella is a classic. And, just because it doesn't look all that spiffy doesn't mean that it still wasn't working just fine until we had that slight issue halfway into the building—"

Her eyes roaming up and down his body, using it as an opportunity to enjoy and to appreciate his spectacular physique, Brennan finally returned her gaze to him as she said, "Your wet appearance would seem to contradict that statement, Booth."

"And, you were just checking me out, weren't you, Bones?" Booth said, looking over his shoulder as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively at her.

"Maybe," Brennan said, not bothering to deny the fact. "But, one action doesn't necessarily have anything else to do with the other one aside from the fact that I'm the common denominator by being the main individual involved in both actions, Booth." She stopped and then gestured with the dripping umbrella, "I believe the appropriate term is that your umbrella _sucks, _Booth."

As he put the key in the deadbolt, Booth began to wiggle it in the lock and shrugged. "It's not like you hadn't gotten soaked already, Bones, when you bailed on the safe refuge offered by my good ole trusty umbrella here, so no complaints, huh? I mean, you weren't really expecting to not get wet when you took off like it was a 5K run or something, right?"

"I like to take my own chances when the circumstances merit it, Booth," Brennan said, coming up behind him and pressing her chest against his back. She leaned up as she exhaled a single, long breath against the skin of his neck. Although he was soaked from head to toe, when he shivered, it wasn't because the water had made him feel cold. She smiled slightly at that thought as she took a step back.

Fortunately for Booth, he popped the door open in that minute and decided that a bit of revenge wasn't necessarily uncalled for when considering how Brennan's playful teasing of him had started to stoke the fires of his arousal all over again. Turning around, he reached for her hand as he said with a lusty stare, "Come here."

Brennan allowed Booth to pull her towards him, but she came easily into his arms, he became concerned when he saw a strange look flash on her face for a few minutes. When she was pressed tight up against him, her body flush with his, his voice softened with a bit of concern coming into his voice as he asked, "What is it?"

Shaking her head, she looked up at him with a sad smile. _ I should've known I can't get anything past him. Perhaps, metaphorically, Booth was more accurate than he knew when he claimed he could read me like a book. _Taking a breath, Brennan finally verbalized the thought that had flashed in her head as her eyes fell across the apartment door's entry way when he had pulled her towards him. "I was just thinking that I really hate that rock of yours."

Glancing down at it, Booth bit back a smile. "Would it make you feel better if you kicked it again, Bones?"

Smirking, Brennan immediately started to feel better for some reason as Booth's teasing seemed to banish some of the dark thoughts that rattled around in her head as she tried to make sense of everything that had happened to them in the past few hours. Chuckling at him, she replied, "No, it wouldn't."

Gently lifting her chin with his hand to bring her eyes to meet his, Booth noticed that the hue of her pale eyes hadn't quite returned to its normal shade. "Well, you can't say I didn't offer this time."

Brennan smiled slightly as she said, "No, I can't."

She shivered a bit as he held her, and Booth clucked his tongue in gentle remonstrance at her. "See, Bones? Sometimes it's not a good idea when you decide to go and run."

"_Mmmm_," Brennan agreed with a slight tilt of her head. "Point taken, Booth. But, since probability dictates that I'd have gotten soaked anyway because of your thoroughly worthless umbrella, perhaps we could just agree to disagree so we can go inside, and I can strip these wet clothes off of me? The denim of my skirt is clinging to me like a second skin, and I believe I'm starting to chafe."

For a few brief seconds, Booth started to feel a twitch in his groin at the idea of Brennan stripping off any piece of clothing of her body. But when she used the word 'chafe,' the small buzz was immediately killed. Laughing slightly, he grabbed her hand and pulled her forward. "Come on, Bones. Let's go inside where it's nice and dry."

When the pair stood in his entryway, water now pooling in his foyer, Booth turned away from her for a few seconds to secure the deadbolt. He then turned his back to Brennan and moved to deposit his Glock in the gun safe before tossing his keys and cell phone on a seemingly random bookshelf. For her own part, after dropping the messenger bag that she had slung across her shoulder on the floor by the door, Brennan watched him move. She studied each determined movement with keen interest and smiled in appreciation as she observed no randomness in his fluid movements. Brennan admired the natural rhythm in Booth's actions as she watched him go about such mundane tasks, and as she started to shiver once more, she suddenly realized it wasn't from feeling cold due to the wet clothing that still clung to her body like a wet suit.

Booth flashed her a grin as he said, "Be right back." He then disappeared for a second, going into the bathroom to retrieve a couple of towels. While he was in there, he took the liberty of shrugging out of his FBI jacket and tossing his blue button-down shirt and gray t-shirt in a random pile of wetness in one of the bathroom's far corners near the bathtub. Taking a towel himself, and beginning to rub his wet hair dry, Booth smiled as he called out, "Hey, Bones. If you need any help, you know, stripping off those wet clothes of yours, I'd be more than willing to volunteer my very skilled clothing removal services for your personal benefit there, so, _uhhhh, _just let me know—"

As he walked back into the family room, Booth immediately tensed as he saw Brennan hadn't moved from the spot where he had left her two or three minutes earlier despite his cheeky offer. He suddenly felt his stomach clench in fear as he thought, _Oh, God. _He swallowed hard. _Please don't let her have changed her mind already. Don't let her want to run, because if she goes out that door, I don't know what else I'm gonna do but follow her, and that might just make things go from bad to worse. At the very least, it will start the whole damn cycle all over again, and if that happens, I don't know what either one of us are going to do_—

Approaching her slowly, Booth didn't know what else to do as he lamely offered her a thick and absorbent dark burgundy towel that he had brought back for her from the bathroom. Brennan slowly reached out and took it, but said nothing once she clasped it in her hand. She merely stared at the towel for several seconds as she blinked, looking at it as if as if it was some foreign object that she'd never seen before. It was at that moment that Booth then noticed it again. She'd started to shiver once more, but this time the shivering was almost so pronounced, it might've been more aptly described as shaking.

"Bones?" Booth asked simply. Finally, reaching out he took his hand and gently tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. "Hey—Bones?"

Finally, she spoke, and when she did, her voice suddenly seemed very strange. "Yes, Booth?"

"What's going on in there?" Booth said, as he nodded at her. "Remember, if I'm gonna help you, you gotta tell me things, Bones. I'm not a mind-reader. _You've _gotta tell_ me_ when you need help."

His words seemed to soothe her a bit as she finally looked up at him and nodded as she said in a small voice, "I don't know what to do next, Booth."

At her small confession, he moved the back of his palm from the softness of the skin under Brennan's chin and caressed the side of her cheek. "Oh, well, that's any easy one, Bones. You can start by letting me help you get out of those wet clothes, huh?"

Shaking her head slowly, Brennan repeated, "I don't know what to do next."

Booth took her hand, gave it a reaffirming squeeze as he took her greater meaning and said softly, "What does that matter?"

Looking at him as if he was speaking a foreign language, a flash of emotion came into Brennan's eyes as she said emphatically, "Because!"

"Because why, Bones?" Booth said, his tone a bit louder than he'd intended. As he reflected on his question, he winced a bit as he realized just how much he suddenly sounded like Parker before he went on an annoying Q&A tear about some weird subject. However, his tone hadn't seemed to bother Brennan as much as his actual words had annoyed her.

"Because," Brennan insisted, looking at him as she tried to explain to him the source of her ire. "It matters because we agreed, Booth. We agreed."

"Yes," Booth nodded slowly. "Yes, we did."

"Yes," Brennan repeated. "We agreed, remember, that before I came here that, as a sign of my decision to proverbially 'go for a different outcome', that I would return to your apartment with you and spend the night. But—"

There it was, Booth suddenly realized. Still, he knew she needed to hear herself say it. "But, what, Bones?"

"But, aside from not leaving," she began tentatively, "how do I do that?" Once the question was out of her mouth, she exhaled deeply, as if she'd just made some huge realization. Tilting her head at him she asked in a very quiet voice, "I don't know how to do that, Booth. I just don't. How do I spend an entire night with you without any specific plan or particular goal aside from waiting for the sun to come up and wait for the requisite amount of time to pass?"

"You don't," Booth said simply, her uncertainty and lack of self-confidence tearing at his heart as he tried to make her feel better about things. "You don't wait for the time to pass because you don't keep track of the time, Bones. It's okay, you know? You don't count the minutes like it's something you don't want to do. If you don't want to stay, you don't have to—this, _this _is all about making a choice—_you _making the choice _you _want to make, whatever that choice is."

"I already made my choice," Brennan said simply as she firmly nodded at him. "I want to stay here. I want to be with you."

"Then _stay here_," Booth said, using the hand he still grasped to pull her lightly towards him. "And, _be with me_."

"But," Brennan said, her voice still hesitant. "But, Booth—"

"But," Booth interrupted her with a smile. "If you stay, that means not trying to control every little detail, plan every single action, Bones," he said, cutting her off slightly. "Because, you know, doing it that way?"

"Yes, Booth?" Brennan asked, understanding that he was waiting for her to prompt him.

"Doing it that way doesn't mean that you have to spin out of control, stop thinking, stop acting rationally, Bones," he said, still stroking her jaw with a kind and reassuring pattern of movement using his thumb. You've just gotta find some type of balance."

"So, what you're saying is that I need to find some type of happy medium?" Brennan offered after she considered his words.

Booth grinned at her, nodding. "Yeah, Bones." He leaned in at that moment and added, "With an emphasis on the 'happy' part."

He then leaned in to kiss her. It took Brennan a moment, as she was trying hard, so hard, and it made Booth's heart swell to think of her efforts. But, he could still sense the tension radiating in her, he could feel the inner turmoil rolling off of her in roiling wave after wave.

Pulling back slightly, Booth murmured in her ear, "God, Bones, for a woman who just got laid, you're still awfully tense."

Her brow creasing, Brennan said, "I don't—"

"You do too know what it means," Booth said with an easy grin.

Chuckling, she shook her head and said, "That's not what I was going to say."

"Oh?" he asked as he looked at her with playful eyes. "Then, what were ya going to say there, Bones?"

"I was going to say," Brennan said with a small shake of her head, "that I don't know what to do about that, but that you're right," she said simply. "I'm still incredibly stiff, and you're right."

Arching an eyebrow at her and deciding to leave the stiff reference alone at that point, Booth smiled. "_Hmmm, _I love the sound of that last part."

"What part?" Brennan asked. "The part where I said you were right?"

"Yup," he nodded. Pulling her tightly against him, he said softly, "Fortunately, for you, I think I've got a pretty good idea about how to solve at least one of your problems."

Her brow furrowing slightly, she replied, "And, what's that?"

"I'm not going to tell you," Booth said with a slight shake of his head. "I think it might be better if I just showed you."

Booth's hands came up from where they had been clasped around the small of Brennan's back, and he slipped his fingers underneath the wet blouse, peeling the damp knit top away from her cold and clammy skin one inch at a time. The movement caused her to gasp involuntarily, and Booth felt himself smile at the reaction his actions had elicited.

"Hmmm," he murmured. "Yup. I think it's definitely better to show you than to tell you. What do you think, Bones?"

Leaning into him a bit, Brennan's eyes were closed as she suddenly said, "I think it's a pretty good idea, especially if you keep doing what you're doing right now, but—"

"But?" Booth said, suddenly stilling his fingers at her words.

Brennan whimpered a bit, and her eyes popped open and she said as she gave him a questioning look, "But—"

Shaking his head, Booth leaned in and kissed her. The movement immediately silenced her, and she had just started to relax as he deepened the kiss before he pulled back, again causing Brennan to whimper in protest.

"God, Booth," she said softly. "You've got to stop doing that."

"I will," he said, a knowing look coming into his eyes as he nodded at her and said, "I promise—just as soon as you stop counting."

"Counting?" Brennan asked, the confusion clear on her face as she stared at him. "I wasn't counting anything, Booth. I was too busy enjoying the sensations I felt when you kissed me to be concentrating on any exercises involving numerals, arithmetic, or statistic."

"That's not what I meant, Bones," Booth told her lightly, chuckling at her familiar literalness.

Tilting her head slightly as she look at him, she said, "I don't understand."

Bringing his hands so that he could clasp hers, Booth slowly pried her fingers apart and intertwined them with his. He then flexed his fingers a couple of times. Brennan looked down and watched what he was doing with curiosity in her eyes. When he was finished, Booth looked up at her and asked, "How many times did I just squeeze your hand?"

"Twice," Brennan said instantly. As soon as the words were out of her mouth, her face suddenly fell. Turning away from him, she said, "Oh—"

Slowly, gently, he unclasped one of his hands from hers and gently tilted her chin towards him. "Bones?"

Although she allowed her head to be turned, Brennan didn't lift her eyes to meet his. Slowly shaking her head, she said quietly, "I don't know how to stop doing that."

"Doing what?" Booth asked.

"Paying attention to details," she replied simply. "I don't know how to do it, Booth."

"I'm not asking you to stop paying attention to details, Bones," Booth said. "I know that'd be like me asking the sun not to shine or the rain not to fall. Those things are all natural, and there's just no way to change them—even if I wanted to, which, I'm not saying I do, by the way. It's a part of what makes you _you, _Bones." He pursed his lips but was unable to suppress his smile "And, I don't want to change you. I think you're pretty nifty just the way you are."

"Then, what—"

Slowly moving his hands to the brown belt buckle that Brennan had hastily fastened when she gotten dressed in the back of the SUV, Booth pulled the belt free of its clasp and let it fall to the floor at her feet. She watched his every move with intense interest, not bothering to finish her earlier sentence. Moving his hands to the back of her shirt, he resumed peeling the damp cloth away from where it clung to her like she was wearing a wet suit. Brennan, whose words had already trailed off, lifted her arms high enough so that Booth could pull the wet knit blouse off of her. Tossing it aside, the damp garment fell with a heavy _splat _on the floor where it landed after he discarded it. His hands going to her waist, Booth said nothing as he quickly unbuttoned and unzipped Brennan's jean skirt. Again, he tossed it aside so that she soon found herself clad in only her damp cream colored bra and panties once she'd kicked off here pumps at his request. Booth eyed his handiwork for a minute and then nodded in approval. Watching him stare at her with such clear desire and hunger, Brennan took a step forward, and reached out to him. Booth, however, had other plans as he shook his head.

"No—" he said softly.

His single word bewildered Brennan, and for a split second she thought he was rejecting her for some inexplicable reason. Holding her gaze, Booth shook his head softly and laughed. "God, no, of course, I want you, Bones." He felt a hitching sensation in his groin as if his body was screaming its assent to what his mind had just spoken. "You know that, or at least I hope you know that by now." He licked his lips and said in a distinctly lower voice, " I've always wanted you, and I _will _always want you, but, this—we've got to stop keeping score."

"And, you stripping me of my soaked clothing accomplished this how exactly?" Brennan asked, his actions and reasoning escaping her. "I don't understand, Booth. Help me."

Reaching out, he brought a hand to her damp hair which was starting to curl slightly as it dried. Tucking the frizzy curl behind her ear, Booth nodded as he said, "A week ago, as soon as we started fooling around in bed, do you remember the first thing we started bickering about?"

Biting a lip, recalling the contentious issue as to how quickly she'd orgasmed, Brennan reluctantly nodded her head.

"And, the next morning," Booth said slowly. "When you woke up, and you looked at me with one of the most goddamn sexy 'come hither' looks that I've ever seen, do you remember what you said before you gave me the best blow job I've ever had in my entire life?"

Again, she nodded in the affirmative. "I said I wanted to balance the inequality between us."

"And the reason you said that was because you were counting the numbers of times you got off versus the number of time I did, right?" Booth asked.

"Yes," Brennan said softly, desperately wanting to look away from Booth, but unable to do so.

"And, _that's_ what's got to stop, Bones," he explained gently. "You've got to stop trying to keep score between us."

"But," Brennan said, now unable to help herself as she said looked up at him with an impassioned plea. "If I stop counting, how will we know that we've maintained equilibrium, Booth? How will we know that things are equal between us?" she asked.

"Because, Bones, " Booth explained. "If you trust me, and I trust you, then it's not so much about being equal at every single minute of every hour of every day of every week. It's about a give and take. Sometimes I do the taking, sometimes I do the giving, and the same for you. But, in the end, as long as we're both satisfied with how things have balanced out between us in the long-term, _that's_ what's most important." He took a deep breath, and then looked at her expectantly for a few seconds before he asked hopefully, "Do you understand?"

Brennan was quiet for a moment, but then shivered as she said, "I want to, but I'm not certain that I do—"

Booth held her gaze for a minute, and then said, "Okay, Bones. That's okay." He stopped, looked away as he tried to figure out another way to communicate to her the information he needed her to understand. Slowly, as he recalled her body's tight muscles, he suddenly had an epiphany and smiled. Tilting his head back to look over at her, Booth smiled as he said, "Okay, Bones, then, how about this?" She blinked at him several times and waited for him to continue. "So, I have an idea, Bones."

"What type of idea?" Brennan finally managed to ask.

Nodding at her, Booth said, "How about we conduct a little demonstration—not an experiment mind, you, just a demonstration to show you what I mean?"

Arching an eyebrow, Brennan replied instantly even though she was a bit bothered by his vagueness. "Okay. Tell me what we're going to do." Her response warmed Booth's heart as it demonstrated how much she had come to trust him openly in such a short period of time.

"Well," he said, walking around so that he was standing behind her. "Since we both know I love to multi-task, I say we kill two birds with one stone."

"Meaning?" Brennan asked.

"Meaning," Booth said as he reached up and gently squeezed her tense shoulders. "Meaning, you're still too stressed to sleep. You need to ease up a bit, and I think the best way to kill two birds with one stone is to get you to relax and show you how not to keep score anymore, huh?"

"And, so what you're suggesting is that we engage in another act of sexual intercourse?" she said, her eyes closing slightly as he removed his hands from her shoulders and brushed her hair away from her right side, replacing it with his lips. "Because, if you are, I think I find those to be acceptable terms in as far as your proposed demonstration goes," she sighed in pleasure.

"Glad you think so," Booth murmured against the softness of her skin. "And, your guess is kinda sorta right."

"Kinda sorta?" Brennan frowned as she opened her eyes. "And, that means what exactly, Booth?"

"Mmmm," he said, as he began to trail a long line of damp kisses across her shoulder blade. "It means your close, but not entirely spot on, Bones."

"Why not?" she asked, her breath hitching in her throat as he continued to tease her with his lips and tongue as it danced across her skin.

"Because," Booth murmured. "Right now, this is more about you, and less about me, Bones."

His words unsettling her a bit, Brennan opened her eyes and said quietly, "I don't—"

"Do you trust me?" he suddenly asked, interrupting her as he moved his mouth away from her soft skin.

Turning around, she raised her eyes to Booth's. They held each other's gaze for several very long seconds. When the silence was finally broken, it was Brennan who spoke first as she answered his question. "Yes," she replied. "I trust you, Booth."

"You sure?" Booth asked, tilting his head as he looked into her eyes. "You trust me? You're certain, Bones? You really trust me?" he repeated.

Brennan nodded firmly. "Yes, Booth. I do. I trust you more than anyone else I've ever trusted before in my entire life."

"Then, right now," Booth said, his heart again swelling with joy. "I'm going to steer us through that door, into my bedroom, down onto my bed, and if you thought the orgasm you had in the SUV from that little _wham-bam, thank you, ma'am _move of yours was good, you're gonna get your world rocked in just a little bit more because I want to do something for you, Bones." He waited until she'd processed his words before he continued. With her gaze firmly meeting his, Brennan waited expectantly for him to finish explaining. He smiled at her when he saw the look on her face and nodded. "_I _want to do something for _you _because I care about you and want to make you feel good, and I'm not expecting anything else in return besides the opportunity to do just that, Bones—because we're not keeping score anymore, okay?"

Brennan again held his gaze. Both of them knew _exactly _what he was talking about—after everything that had happened between the two of them in the past week, how could they not?

Slowly, she reached out and hesitantly took Booth's hand. Again, she intertwined her fingers with his, squeezed it several times, but _this _time she didn't keep track of how many times. Looking up at him, she smiled shyly at him and nodded.

Increasing the pressure on her hand, he returned her smile and then nodded in the direction of the bedroom. "Come on," he said, his voice already becoming husky with desire.

Brennan followed him as Booth walked into the bedroom, shutting the door behind them. The bedroom was still dark, although the light in the bathroom was still on and its thin beam of illumination could be seen escaping from underneath the closed door in the bedroom.

Cocking her head to the side as she scanned the room again, Brennan glanced at the bed and said, "You never make your bed, do you?"

"Why do you say that, Bones?" Booth asked with amusement in his voice.

"Because," she said. She gestured her head at the bed and said, "You've changed the sheets since I was in here last week. Those were different than these."

"You remember that, huh?" he asked, smiling but not really surprised that she had remembered such a minute detail.

Brennan nodded, "These navy ones are a darker color than the last set were." She stopped, squinted for a minute at the sheets, and then said, "I don't remember the exact color of the sheets you had on last week, but they were a lighter color."

"Yeah," Booth agreed, dropping her hand so that he could move up behind her again. "They were, and you're right. I had to change them after last week." He paused and came up to kiss her shoulder blade again. He murmured into her ear. "It was driving me crazy every time I tried to lay down on them and just smelled _you _even though you weren't here anymore. But, even after I changed them, I haven't really bothered making the bed. I don't usually have time in the morning, even if I'm awake enough to do it, and what's the point when I'm just gonna get back into bed again that night, so, yeah—you're right about both things, by the way."

He pressed his chest against her to emphasize his final words. Brennan involuntarily shivered a bit as she felt the contrasting firm warmth of his naked chest pressed against her back juxtaposed with the cold damp of his wet jeans on the back of her legs. Opening her mouth, she was surprised at how her voice cracked a bit as she called out his name.

"Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"Could you do me a favor?"

"Sure," Booth said as he raised a hand to brush her damp hair away from her shoulder.

Brennan felt a frisson of excitement wash over her at his light touch, but she couldn't help it as she thought of how being stuck in soaked jeans was probably a very annoying feeling to not just her, but him as well.

"Before, uh, _ohhhhhh_—" Her voice trailed off as he had moved his lips to her neck again and placed a simple kiss on her exposed skin one more time. Her already rapid heartbeat was increasing as she struggled to regain her focus.

"You were saying, Bones?" he murmured.

"Ummm," Brennan asked, struggling to maintain a coherent thought, but the unpleasant feeling of the wet denim on the back of her legs helped her long enough to focus as she spoke in a rough voice. "Yeah... I—would you please take off your jeans? I can feel them on the back of my legs, and I know it's probably not a pleasant feeling for you, so, uh, yeah—could you do that for me, please?"

Although Brennan was turned away from him, facing in the opposite direction, Booth couldn't help himself as he smiled—even if she couldn't see it. He pulled his body away from hers only for a few seconds, just long enough to kick off his socks and shoes before he peeled his jeans and boxers off his hips and down his legs. Kicking them away, he had to admit that being free of the wet garments _did _feel much better. The only rather minor point that Booth was worried about was the potential fact that his semi-hard on would get a lot harder if he wasn't careful, and Brennan would be able to feel it instantly with their skin touching so intimately as it already was—and promised to do so even more if his plans went as he hoped they would. He figured that if Brennan did sense his arousal, it would probably distract them both from finishing something that was important to Booth if they both fell into the act of just having sex again.

He took a breath, pushing his own responses, his own reactions to the enticing curve of Brennan's deliciously creamy back out of his mind. _This isn't about you, Booth. This is about her. Don't get distracted. Concentrate. Focus_, Booth told himself.

Coming back up behind her, he resumed where he had been kissing her neck. "Better?" he mouthed more than actually said against her soft skin. Her right shoulder twitched a bit in response, as she was unable to help herself as she felt his nearness and warmth. And, in that minute, Brennan knew she wanted more.

"Yes," she breathed so softly he almost didn't hear it.

Nodding his head, Booth brushed his lips in a sweeping trail from the crook of her neck and out to her shoulder. He stopped only when he encountered her bra strap, pausing long enough to gently slide it over her shoulder so the expanse of her smooth skin was open to his ministrations. Booth then spent several minutes just kissing her, alternating from one shoulder and then to the left. Not that she really needed it, but he wanted to bank the embers of her arousal so they would be hot and blazing, so that when she finally did come, Brennan would shatter in his arms again. He rather liked that image, he thought greedily. He liked the idea of being able to elicit a response from Brennan that no one else ever had or ever could.

Eventually, the only sounds of the bedroom were Brennan's ragged breathing as it increased with each new movement Booth made and the barely-audible smacking of lips on skin as each of them shuffled a bit since they remained standing. The pair didn't say a word, per Booth's earlier claim that this was to be an active demonstration, and not a mere explanation of how to stop keeping score.

At some point, he gently unhooked the bra clasp, letting it fall to the ground. Moving his hands to come up from behind her, he threaded his arms under hers and wrapped them around her torso so that he could touch her heavy breasts. Palming each one in the cup made by his hand, he rolled his hands from side-to-side, not really touching them, but just teasing a bit. He didn't move his thumbs towards her nipples quite yet, although he could sense that Brennan would've liked it a lot if he'd done that. Instead, he took his index fingers and began to draw light circles in the soft, pale skin that lurked just around the outside of each of her areolas. The simple motion teased Brennan immensely and caused her to throw back her head a bit and have to relax against Booth's shoulder for support. He grinned as he saw the front of her smooth neck exposed, but he didn't let its tempting sight distract him from his efforts. He continued to rim her nipples just so, before, almost at random, he would run his finger tip across the areola, up the nipple, and down the other side. Each time he did it, Brennan gasped slightly, and each time he did it, Booth was rewarded with the knowledge that he had learned a new way to tease her nipples into tight and taut bright pink peaks. It amused him to know that sometimes being gentle could result in just as good a result as being harder in his touch of her, particularly as he briefly recalled how he'd tweaked Brennan's nipples much more roughly each of the previous times he'd had a chance to touch them as he was doing at the current moment.

Brennan's breath coming shallow, he suddenly realized that if he wasn't very much mistaken, he _knew _that sound—and he was mildly annoyed with himself because he wasn't quite ready for her to climax yet.

Dropping his hands, Booth stopped what he was doing, and her closed eyes immediately snapped open in protest. She turned her head and stared at him open-mouthed, question unspoken, but still asked: _why did you stop?_

"Because," he told her, speaking the first words he'd uttered in some time—truthfully, the first words either of them had spoken in some time—and his voice having grown slightly hoarse since that moment to his surprise. "Not yet, okay, Bones? Hold on a little bit longer, and it'll be worth it, I promise. But, not yet."

"If I have to wait, I'm going to crack again," Brennan whispered. "You have no idea—" She stopped, grasping for the words. Shaking her head, she said, "You have no idea what it's been like this week. Each time I came close, each time I built towards the edge, I got yanked back for one reason or another—either because I was stubborn and too stupid to just let myself come or because you have really lousy timing with early-morning text messages."

Booth moved around to face her, and this time embraced her in a hug. He pressed a kiss to her cheek as he said, "Don't worry. I promise you won't leave my bed without having at least one mind-blowing earth shattering orgasm, huh, Bones?"

"As a part of the demonstration?" Brennan half-joked, her voice still cracking as she spoke.

Booth shrugged with a smile. "Sure." Taking her hand, he nodded towards the bed. "I'm tired of standing. You?"

Brennan nodded. She turned and took a step towards the bed. As he enjoyed the swell of her ass, which was still clad in the damp cream colored lace panties, he cocked his head before he tugged on her hand and said, "Hey, Bones. Wait just a sec—"

Stopping, she was about to turn around and inquire what Booth wanted to stop for when she felt him drop her hand, and his own hands went to her waist. Looping his thumbs through the waistband of her panties, Booth tugged and slid them down her hips until they hung awkwardly at her knees. The movement caught Brennan slightly unaware. When she realized what he'd done, she shook her head slightly as she smiled and then stepped out of them. Turning around, she allowed herself to fall back onto the bed in a gentle movement. She scooted towards the middle, moving on her hands and feet like a crab, and then looked up to see Booth watching her with a hungry look clear in his eyes. Lifting her hand, she gestured with her index finger for him to come to her. He eagerly complied, and soon his own body covered hers.

Another round of kissing ensued, and for a few crucial seconds, Brennan almost distracted Booth enough so that he did lose focus. By that point, there was nothing 'semi' about his hard on, but he pushed the sensation out of his mind as he moved his mouth down her navel and followed his favorite path in a straight line down to her smooth, warm folds. Brennan, her legs casually spread open as she reclined and watched Booth's dark head move towards his goal, looked on with heavy-lidded eyes. In that moment, the single moment before she felt his callused thumb separate her slit from top to bottom, Brennan lost the ability to do anything but feel. When she felt Booth's tongue dart inside where his fingers had just parted her, she started to moan and writhe with pleasure. He ran his tongue up and down in short and measured strokes, causing her head to lull to the side as she felt the short and sharp orgasm to which she'd been building earlier start to shift to something deeper and more intense. She felt the familiar tightening in her belly, and the hum of energy continued to radiate from her stomach and down, almost all the way to the tips of her toes. Booth's mouth continued to move, licking, nipping, sucking as he went, and when she felt his tongue encircle her clit—once, twice, three times—then, there it was, the last slow and languid swipe of his tongue was enough to push her over the edge again.

Her hips coming off of the bed, Brennan lifted her ass slightly and brought herself closer to Booth's mouth as she cried out. As she felt the tell-tale first signs of the orgasm pushing herself forward, she knew he had shifted from trying to please her to pleasing himself as he lapped up her creamy sweetness with relish. The movements drove her out of her skin, out of her mind, and as she rode the orgasm through to the end, Brennan knew she didn't really care.

Shuddering one final time, she fell back onto the bed, spent, the tension that had been resident in her taut form quickly started to seep away. Opening her eyes after a few seconds, when she finally became aware of her surroundings again, she saw Booth was no longer between her legs, but had come up so that he was leaning over her, bolstering his weight with an arm on either side of her.

He grinned at her in that minute and spoke the first words that either had muttered since Brennan climaxed.

"God, I love it when you make that sound," Booth told her.

"What?" Brennan said, her voice rough as she struggled to regain control over her ragged breathing pattern. Smiling at him, she nodded, "A scream of release?"

Shaking his head, Booth said, "Nope." He grinned at her. "Not just a scream, Bones—you screamed _my _name."

Tilting her head, she narrowed her eyes. Although she couldn't necessarily remember it, Brennan couldn't deny the possibility. "Did I—?"

Booth nodded, quite pleased with himself. "Oh yeah," he said. "You did."

"Oh," Brennan said. "I didn't realize—"

"No shame, remember, Bones?" he said as he eyed her with a look of extreme satisfaction in his eyes.

Recalling their conversation earlier in the week, Brennan chuckled with a nod. "I remember."

Leaning down, Booth moved to kiss her. He hesitated only for a minute, until she reached up herself to meet his kiss, once again apparently not caring that she would be able to taste herself on his lips. They kissed for a few seconds—not frenzied or rushed, just languid kisses of appreciation and gratitude. Eventually, afraid his arms were going to give out, Booth shifted to pull Brennan to him so that they could roll over. They moved fluidly, and she easily took up residence in the crook of his arm, draping her body over his chest.

Finally relaxed, Booth's demonstration apparently effective on more than one level, Brennan yawned a bit. She smiled once at him, her eyes drowsy with repletion.

"Better," Booth nodded in approval. He gave her a quick hug as his arms tightened around her. "Much better."

"Mmmmmm..." Brennan's soft voice trailed off.

And, as Booth held her for a few more minutes, it wasn't until he looked down at Brennan that he realized she had drifted off to sleep. Shifting a bit, the discomfort of his own erection starting to fade just a bit, he closed his own eyes as he too decided to try to get some shuteye. _Yeah, _Booth smiled to himself as he looked down at the woman sleeping in the crook of his arm. He was quite pleased with the most recent turn of events and, for the first time in a long time, felt unhesitatingly hopeful at what the morning would bring.

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><p><strong>-TBC-<strong>

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><p><strong>AN2**: So, has Brennan finally learned to stop counting? Will Booth's good deed go punished or unpunished? The sad news is that only two chapters now remain in this story. Just a thought for all our readers to keep in mind, a sequel to CD is already planned and is called "Proprietary Interest." That's the good news. The bad news, however, is that none of it has been written yet, and it won't be started until after the new year. The monkey and I will spend January and February writing it, so it may be a bit of time before you see where things go next. The moral of the crack!story? Pace yourselves! ;) Then, when you're done pacing yourselves—although, we don't want you to pace yourselves _too _much—go ahead and do your thing. Coming up next: B&B have both fallen asleep, but which one of them wakes up first and acts to set the tone of the day? ::cue ominous music here:: Want to know what happens next? Then, do your thing by clicking that wonderful shiny blue 'review' button below, and we'll do ours. :)~


	9. Ch 19: A Different Outcome

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.

**A/N:** Yes...yes... we're back...finally. Our apologies for the long delay. But, instead of taking up lots of time with long-winded explanations...how about we just get straight to the reason we know you're all here, huh? So, without further adieu...when we last left Brennan, she had willing gone to Booth's bed and stopped keeping score of things with that nasty OCD habit of hers...

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><p><strong>Chapter 19 - A Different Outcome<strong>

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><p>In the pale light of the rainy morning, Brennan slowly began to awaken, and, as she did so, she started to became aware of a warm and contented feeling that she'd not had in a long, long time. For a few moments, she luxuriated in the warmth, half-awake and half-asleep, in a state of partial wakefulness where she wasn't quite certain what was reality and what was still a dream. Sighing contentedly, she stretched her body, arching her back a bit against the softness of her bed sheets. And, then, in the moment, that was when she realized that <em>something<em> wasn't quite right. It took her a moment to place it, and as she rubbed her cheek against the bed, it suddenly hit her. The feeling of the sheets on which she was laying weren't as soft as they were supposed to be.

If there was one guilty secret that Dr. Temperance Brennan kept from people, it was the fact that she loved to spend her money on high quality bed linens. She never purchased sheets that were less than 600-thread count, and they were often much, much higher because whenever she saw a color design or pattern that struck her fancy, she just bought it without even really looking at the price tag. The sheets against which she now rubbed her naked body weren't uncomfortable, per se, but they were _definitely _a bit rougher against her skin than her normal bedding. Gently cracking open an eye, but still groggy enough to fall back into that wonderful half-dream state if she didn't push the issue too much, Brennan allowed the ensuing kaleidoscope of imagery to be processed by her brain.

The first thing she saw was a span of a soft dark brown suede duvet pulled up almost over her head, to the point that it was so close to her nose that she was surprised it hadn't tickled her into sneezing. The second thing that she saw was a golden expanse of smooth skin as she realized she was looking at a broad chest that was laying on its side facing her. As soon as she came to the conclusion that a broad expanse of prominently developed musculature meant that she wasn't alone in bed, she smiled and slowly closed her eyes again. Gravitating towards the source of warmth, and still uncertain if she was awake or asleep, Brennan moved closer and closer to the expanse of well-defined musculature that she'd seen earlier with a sly smile on her lips.

"Booth—" she groaned as she rolled towards him.

Since Booth was, in fact, still asleep, he didn't so much as offer a token protest when she moved her body weight from the bed to roll both of them over so that he was on his back, and Brennan was on top of him.

"Want," she murmured, her eyes still closed, as her body seemingly moved of its own volition. "Want you—"

She leaned in closer to him, her nipples brushing against his hard chest as she brought her lips close to his. For a few seconds, as she pressed her lips to his, there was no response from his warm mouth. But, regardless of whether she was awake or she was asleep, it couldn't be said that Dr. Temperance Brennan wasn't persistent. Making a slight mewling sound at the back of her throat, she began to suck on his bottom lip. When her tongue darted out to trace the contour of said lip, Brennan then experimented to see what would happen when she pressed her tongue gently between his closed lips. They parted at her efforts with no resistance offered, and she quickly began to caress his stationary tongue with hers. As she opened her mouth a bit wider, arching her head down into his as she pressed her body tightly against his, a stirring of his cock was the first sign that perhaps he wasn't as unresponsive as she'd thought.

Still in the haze of her semi-awake state, Brennan registered that particular fact only long enough to take it as validation of her efforts. Deepening the kiss, she felt a familiar buzzing begin in her stomach and slowly spread throughout her pelvis and the rest of her body until she was humming with a slow burning arousal.

"Booth—" she groaned as she grinded her hips against him. "Want you..." she breathed. "I want you—"

At that particular comment, Brennan suddenly felt his strong hands begin to move as they cupped each side of her face, and he pulled her mouth to his, even though such a movement was hardly necessary. They kissed again, this time their lips meeting in a soft, tentative way before their mouths opened to one another once more, each of them grasping at the other hungrily, their tongues swirling between them and sliding along teeth, gums and soft, wet cheeks. She felt his moan as it was swallowed into her own, and felt his fingers reassert their hold on the side of her head, threading themselves in her sleep-tousled hair. An even stronger wave of want crashed over her as she felt her stomach flipping—a sensation she knew was the symptom of the dopamine that was surging through her veins at that moment—and she pulled her mouth from his. Resisting the urge to open her eyes, she didn't have to look to see the sweat-creased sheets between them, her chest heaving, to know they were so close already.

"Bones—" he growled into her ear. "Want you."

The three words almost undid her in that moment.

"Now," she whispered back as she rotated her hips against him once more. She couldn't help but smile as her movements elicited a rather pleasing moan from his lips. "Now," she repeated again.

And, as she started to become more cognizant of what was going on around her, her delicious arousal speeding her on into consciousness, Brennan continued to fight against waking up fully because a tiny part of her knew that if she woke up, pleasure might not be all that the morning had brought her.

"Want," she whispered against him in a half-moan, half-plea. "Want you."

"You've got me," he moaned. _God, you've got me, _he thought. _You've had me for a long time, Bones, _he said in a silent reply. _For years now. _ "You've got me," he said again in a voice that was strong enough, despite his hoarseness, that it left no doubt that he was more awake than she. "You've got me, baby," he whispered as he thrusted up against her, groaning at the sensation of it as he felt every fiber of his being yearn to be buried inside her delicious wet warmth.

As Booth's hands come up to rest just underneath her heavy breasts, he rolled them lightly in his palms as he used his thumbs to tease the erect peaks into even more proudly tight pink mounds of her very sensitive flesh. Brennan groaned at the sensations, finally allowing herself to be pulled fully into the land of the living. With each expert movement, Booth increased her heart rate, and before Brennan realized what was happening, several beads of her sweat had rolled off her forehead, down her face and neck, and come to rest in the valley of her breasts. Leaning his head even closer to her, Booth's tongue eagerly licked the trail left by the beads of sweat, eliciting another moan from Brennan.

"_Ohhhhhhh_—"

"Bones," Booth murmured against her, his rough voice reverberating against the soft and delicate skin of the cleft between her full and round tits. "Are you with me?"

"_Mmmmmm_—"

Booth listened to her moan and heard in the softness of her voice that she wasn't completely present in the moment, but unlike other minutes, he felt no tension or hanging back and so wondered how awake she really was. _Come on, baby, _he thought. _It's time to come all the way into the waking world, Bones. This is gonna be amazing_—_good...so fucking good. Mind-suckingly, brain-blowingly, earth-shatteringly awesome. But ya gotta be with me 'cause this is no dream, baby. This time, it's real. I'm real, we're here, together, for real...and it's happening...for real. _Brushing his mouth in a wide sweeping motion across an arc of skin between her tits, Booth smiled at her as he whispered, "Wakey, wakey, Bones."

His hands had moved to her ass in that moment, and each of his ten fingers began to knead small circles into her muscles there in a way that obviously pleased Brennan as she moaned against the crook of his shoulder, into which her head had lulled after his hands fell away from her tits.

"Bones—" he tried again, this time punctuating his words with another kiss. "No more sleep time."

Still, Brennan refused to open her eyes, even though she was almost completely awake by that point as Booth continued to tease her.

"Come on," he coaxed her. "I know you're awake, Bones."

"_Mmmmmmmm,_" she murmured again. "Don't want to."

"Come on," he repeated, lifting his head to kiss her shoulder. "Wake up, and I promise it'll be worth your while." This time, so there would be no doubt in his words, he reached down, one hand coming off her ass as it began to creep between them as he sought out her clit. With a gentle touch, he began to tease her, and, after a sharp intake of breath, his efforts finally obtained the results he'd been soliciting. _Bingo, baby._

"No fair," she groaned. "Definitely not fair."

"But, you love it anyway," he said, growing even harder as he saw the shading in her eyes darken as her pupils dilated. _Yeah, baby, _he thought as he rubbed tight circles against her clit. _You love it when I drive you out of that brilliant skull of yours. _He gathered some of her moisture with a quick swipe of his finger. _That's right. You do. I know it. _"Don't you?" he asked with an evil grin.

"Yes," she hissed. "But, that still doesn't mean you're not evil."

"I'm trying to make amends here," he said. "For waking you up in such a piss poor way yesterday."

"Uh huh," she responded with just a tad bit of sullenness in her voice that was more for a token protest than because she was actually displeased with his efforts. "Still evil, Booth."

In that moment, as her eyes openly sought his, she felt a sudden wave of some type of unidentifiable emotion crash over her to the point that she felt she couldn't move. And, then she realized that she was actually feeling paralyzed by the two disparately baffling and conflicting emotions that she felt—one, a palpable fear, terror at once again losing control, and the other a feeling of safety, that despite the danger she was not facing it alone. Then, her eyes finally met his, and as he soulfully looked into the depths of her being, his deep brown eyes seemed to convey _exactly _what she needed to know in that moment.

_It's okay to stop being afraid. _

She felt her heart skip a bit once at his calm and gentle reassurances.

_I'm here, we're here...I'm not going anywhere...this is real, very real...so just go with it. _

Some of the terror faded as he soothed away her panic by reminding her of the agreements they'd made the prior evening.

_Trust me..._

_I do, _Brennan tried to convey to him as he heart swelled in joy at the fact that she realized she didn't feel quite as afraid as she'd been before—and it was because of him...all because of him. _I do trust you, God, I do_—

_Then, enjoy it_—_enjoy me_—_enjoy us._

"Yes," she whispered, realizing only after she said it that her words had been in response to things said only in her own mind.

Booth's jaw slackened into a lazy smile as he swallowed once before pulling her face to his again as he kissed her, running his tongue along the back of her teeth and stroking the inside of her cheek as he felt her shudder in response. _God, Bones. _He loved the way she tasted, and the silky, sweet feel of her mouth. He'd never forgotten the very first time he had felt her mouth on his, standing on the back stoop of his old pool bar in the rain. _I knew_, he remembered. _I knew from the moment that those luscious lips of yours touched mine that there was something magic about you. The way she felt, the way she tasted. Damn, I could barely walk afterwards. _He remembered the second time he had felt her mouth on his. _I knew_—_I just knew that kissing her on the lips under the mistletoe, to hell with whether Caroline Julian was there or not, was never gonna just be a kiss._ _I mean, there could've been worse ways to get her family the right to use the prison's conjugal trailer for Christmas, right?_ _But that was sure as hell more than just a kiss, and as soon as our lips pulled apart, both of us knew it._

_Maybe I'm dreaming, _he thought. _That's it. I'm still asleep. I gotta be because there's no better way to wake up in the morning than when Bones wrapping herself around me like that and us having sex, so if I am still asleep and dreaming, please, God, please don't wake me up. I'm either dreaming_—_or, maybe...just maybe... this is a dream come true? I'd always hoped to have her in my bed and to wake up next to her, but I'd sure as hell have never have imagined that it would have happened this way._ _ Can it be? _he wondered. _Does this mean it's possible, that we can make something of this and be something, her and me together?_ The thought of it was intoxicating.

But, as Booth got lost in the sweet, warm feel of her mouth, her hardened nipples dragging against his pectoral muscles, her small hand on his hip as her slender fingers pressed into his flesh, he discovered that he'd forgotten he'd cared all that much about it in that crucially sensual moment. _Fuck it, _he thought. _I can think about that later_—_much later, if things keep going like I think they're going_.

Booth reached for the curve of her hip with one hand, his other hand still cupping the soft skin of her face, his thumb stroking her cheek, and in a single motion he rolled her onto her back. He knelt over her and took a moment to admire the pinkness that had crept over her perfect ivory skin, and stroked his thumb across her lower lip as he bent down to kiss her again.

"_Booth_," she moaned into his kiss, running her hands over the taut muscles of his shoulders and down his back. "Want you," she repeated, echoing her earlier pleas. "Always want you."

Brennan felt his mouth migrate down from her lips, down her neck to her clavicle, his lips sucking gently as his teeth nipped playfully at her skin. "_Ahhhhhhh,_" she cried lightly at his movements, shuddering as he slid his tongue along the length of her collarbone, and she saw a smile crack across his face as he observed her reaction. "Be nice," she breathed. She felt another surge of warmth between her legs as his simple touches caused her desire to well up within her, pooling inside of her and leaving her extremely damp with want and desperate to feel him. Her hand slid down the rippled, muscular surface of his back, around his hip and reached for his hardening cock. She closed her fingers around him and felt a pulse of desire tingle through her in anticipation. "And, I'll be nice to you," she told him in a breathy whisper.

"_Ohhhhh_," he groaned as she stroked him. "Oh, God—_Bones_..."

Supporting himself on one arm, his free hand brushed across her navel, his thumb touching a prominent mole that lay along the rim of her belly button, and he felt her twist against his touch with a husky chuckle that quickly grew into a rough laugh. _God, I love this, _Booth grinned. _Finding all her magic little places, the places where she's ticklish, and the places that drive her wild, and hearing the sounds she makes when I touch her_—_what a privilege to know her this way_, he thought, his heart soaring at the idea of it. _God, what a great feeling_—_I love it...I fucking love it._

"Booth," she hissed, partly in annoyance at being tickled, and partly in frustration at him having stopped the progress of his ministrations. "Stop that," she said, some of the huskiness that had earlier been present in her voice falling away in her mildly growing sense of aggravation and being teased by him so mercilessly.

"_Shhhhhhhh_," he said to her as his hand slid down from her navel, his fingertips threading gently through her crisp auburn curls. He brushed his thumb against her already swollen clit as two of his other fingers stroked up the length of her folds which, he noted with satisfaction, were already soaked with the silky evidence of her arousal. Brennan's hips jerked against his touch as she opened her legs to him, encouraging him to delve even further into her.

"Enough, Booth," she muttered, so consumed with want, she couldn't think of anything other than having him inside of her.

She tightened her grip around his rigid cock and stroked him, using her other hand to gently pull him closer.

"Bones—" he groaned, knowing he was coming dangerously near to spilling in her hand. "Careful there...I'm close...very, _very _close."

"Want you," she told him again, her burning eyes searching out his as she tried to communicate her thoughts in feelings in such simple words. "Need you, Booth. I need you."

"Bones," he groaned again, his hips bucking unintentionally at her touch. "_Ohhhh_—"

"Now," she whispered, and, their eyes meeting once more, she saw him nod silently. "Need you inside me _now_."

She released her grip on him and brought her hands to rest on the hard points of his hips as he knelt between her legs. Booth's eyes fluttered a few times as he gazed at the delicious sight of her—spread and wet and wanting him—and he drew a deep breath as he stroked the tip of his cock along her wet slit before then he rocked his hips back slightly and entered her in a firm, slow stroke.

"_Ahhhhh_..._ooohhhh_, _Booth_," she cried out as she felt him enter her.

He grunted, unable to form an intelligible response as his senses exploded with the magnificence of her hot, tight, silky body enveloping him. Once inside of her, he held still for a moment, his body perched above hers as he looked down on her.

"Oh, Bones," he said as he began to move, an open-mouthed smile on his face as he watched her facial expression change with each thrust. "God, this is even better than is was last night...and last night you felt amazing," he moaned as he drove into her.

After enjoying a dozen of his powerful strokes, Brennan rotated her hips and brought her legs up, crossing them loosely behind Booth's waist, which both changed the angle of penetration and enabled her to use the strength in her leg muscles to pull him even deeper into her. She moaned deeply at the new sensation, and at hearing her moan, he growled in response as he began to pound into her harder and faster. The speed with which Booth stroked into her for some reason surprised her, but as her own arousal peaked and the beginning of her release coiled within her, she welcomed the change in his actions.

"_Booth_…" she cried out.

A droplet of sweat fell from his forehead onto her heaving chest, landing in the space between her breasts. With each of his hard thrusts, Booth felt himself being carried away as if he were caught in a raging torrent, unable to resist the current as each movement drew him closer and closer to the waterfall of his release. She felt incredible, so warm, wet and tight, it drove him out of his mind, and each time he slid into her, he sought to bury himself so deep inside of her that he would never find his way out again—and with each thrust, whatever thread of conscious thought he had left made him think he would never find his way back to the life he knew before he knew her, before he knew her this way.

Another droplet of his sweat fell onto her and dribbled between her breasts and down to her navel as she arched her back and shattered beneath him. As she tightened and then fluttered around him, he threw his head back and drove into her as hard as he could—once, then twice, then a third time as he followed her into oblivion, emptying himself into her with a long, low groan.

"Bones," he moaned as he lingered inside of her, admiring the way her pale green eyes had darkened to teal since the moment a few minutes before that he'd awakened under the influence of her intimate gaze and sensuous touch. "Oh, God, Bones…"

She reached her hand up and cupped his jaw, dragging her thumb over his morning stubble as she pulled him in for another kiss.

"Mine," she moaned as his mouth covered hers in a hungry kiss, a new warmth spreading through her as she realized the truth of the statement and how good it felt to hear him not only say _her _name—unsolicited, this time—in the throws of ecstasy, but even more importantly, he never contradicted her earlier statement.

"Mine," she breathed as she reached out and pulled him to her, the haze of sleep already eagerly reclaiming the pair. "All mine."

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><p><strong>-TBC-<strong>

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><p><strong>AN2**: So, thing's actually seem to be on the up-and-up for our dynamic duo. Only one chapter remains in this opus...a discussion over Brennan's nasty habit of stealing Booth's blanket, Booth's opinion on breakfast in the afternoon for lunch, and a few more 'serious' topics. As ever, since it's been a while since we've updated, let us know you're still out there and hanging in with us until the bitter end by doing your lovely little thing and clicking on that bright and shiny blue 'review' button below. Thanks!~


	10. Ch 20: Hot Coffee, Cold Apples

**Cognitive Dissonance**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **We still own nothing, obviously. And, no, we haven't left the sandbox that we crashed quite yet, and we haven't really decided if we're going to or not. We've grown rather fond of it, actually. So, there.

**A/N: **So, here it is...the final chapter. We bet you never thought we'd get here, huh? So, without mincing words, let's see what Booth and Brennan have been up to since last we left them...~

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><p><strong>Chapter 20 - Hot Coffee, Cold Apples<strong>

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><p>The second time that Brennan awoke that morning, the first thing that she realized was that she couldn't feel her right arm. Blinking open her eyes, she yawned slightly as she realized that she was sleeping on her side, her right arm tucked underneath her. Her left hand was resting on the swell of her hip, intertwined with the fingers of Booth's left hand. His leg had snaked between hers as they slept, and the pair were now closely intertwined as they fell into a position of spooning one behind the other. Brennan could feel his warmth cocooning her as his body had melded to hers during their slumber. And, for a split second, she really, <em>really <em>didn't want to move. However, when her brain gave the command to her arm to move, and it didn't, Brennan made a face. She scowled in displeasure when something that seemed like it should be a logical manifestation of a simple action failed to materialize.

Forcing herself awake, Brennan shifted a bit in the bed and immediately felt another and deeper pang of annoyance shoot through her as she tried to move and realized that the position in which she had fallen asleep had decreased the amount of blood that circulated to her arm. The result was that her arm had gone numb, and Brennan knew the only way to decrease the numbness was to move and stimulate blood flow to that region. However, she also knew that she would be unable to achieve her goal without shifting her position more slightly than she had done thus far. And, so, yawning as she tried to move, reluctantly pulling away from Booth's embrace, Brennan eventually rolled to the opposite side of the bed. Unfortunately, she miscalculated slightly and pulled the comforter with her.

Whether it was from the absence of Brennan's body heat, or the warmth of the down comforter, a blurry eye cracked open from where Booth's head had rested on his pillow. He swallowed a couple of times as he blinked at her, squinting in fact, as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

"Mmmmmmmmm—" he finally managed.

Booth awoke with a fluttering blink to find a familiar pair of cool, light green eyes watching him, tracing their gaze along the contours of his face as if studying him, which by the looks of it, was exactly what Brennan was doing. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and smiled at her, and saw the corner of her mouth turn up in a grin, which made him smile again.

"Good morning, beautiful," he said to her, his sleep-soaked voice nearly a growl.

The vulnerability she saw in his eyes melted her heart a bit more in that moment. _Not that there's not a lot left to melt anyway, _Brennan thought. "Good morning," she finally replied.

"Where are you going with my blanket?" he murmured. "I'm cold."

"Sorry," Brennan said a bit sheepishly. "My arm—" she said, gesturing as she shook it a few times in the air to get the subtle, but stabbing, pins and needles sensation she felt to lessen. "I feel asleep on my arm and couldn't feel it."

"S'okay," Booth said through a yawn. "Better now?"

Rubbing her arm a few times, the annoying sensation that indicated circulation was returning to her arm lessened and she nodded.

"Good," Booth said with a light sigh. "Then, come back to bed and bring my comforter with you, you blanket-thief."

Glancing at the bedroom window, Brennan could see that the late-evening storms had continued. An ugly grey sky, overcast with heavy storm clouds still roiled with turbulence. Although the lightening had abated over the course of the night, an occasional rumble of thunder still made the presence of the storm known. In a single word, the day was _perfect _for staying in bed.

Looking around, Brennan frowned and realized how late it was. "We have to get up, Booth."

"Why?" he mumbled into his pillow. "Don't wanna."

"Because," she said, starting to feel more awake as her brain fired more of its neurons. "Don't you see what time it is? It's already past noon—"

Sighing, Booth reluctantly lifted his head off the pillow and glanced at his alarm clock. "_Mmmmmmm_, yeah, it is." Turning his head back to look over at Brennan, he then grinned as he said, "So what?'

Rolling her eyes, Brennan said, "We can't stay in bed all day."

Glancing at the window again, Booth sat up and yawned. He rubbed the back of his head, exacerbating the way that his bed head hair stuck up in every imaginable direction. Looking back at her, he said, "Why not?"

"Because," Brennan said, moving to get out of bed, and wrapping the comforter around her as she went, "It's a weekday, and the lab—"

"Hey!" he protested as she took the comforter with her. "I meant what I said earlier. Give me back my comforter."

Frowning, Brennan stood up and shook her head. "No way. I need to call the lab." She stopped and then frowned. "Wait, my battery is probably dead since I didn't charge the damn thing last night so—"

Brennan's verbal plan-making was interrupted as Booth leaned over, grabbed one of the edges of his comforter that dangled on the edge of the bed, and gave it a sharp yank. Not expecting Booth's movement, he caught Brennan off-guard and down she fell into a tangled mess of limbs and blanket back onto the bed's mattress. He smiled at her when her head finally popped up from the pandemonium that his efforts had wrought.

"That was a mean thing to do," Brennan scowled at him.

"And I told you that I wanted my blanket back, Bones," Booth said with a grin. "Now, if you won't do a little thing like cooperate, you can't blame me if I have to take matters into my own hands."

Her frown deepening, Brennan immediately protested his words. "Booth. Come on. I'm being serious here."

"Nope," he said, reaching over and pulling her closer to him. "No seriousness is allowed right now. This is my bed, and I'm God of everything in my bed, and that means my word is law."

At his words, Brennan couldn't help it as she laughed. "See? I knew it."

"What?" he grinned.

"I knew you'd eventually verbalize the god-complex that you've manifested. I knew it was only a matter of time," Brennan laughed.

As he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a tight hug, Booth said, "We've both had a bitch of a week on the Lauda case and this new vic. There's no way that Caroline can get Robinson transferred to federal custody in twelve hours, Bones. So, I'll make you a deal. You promise not to do that anal retentive squint thing you do so very, _very _well just for today, and I promise I'll take care of everything else."

"That's a very vague offer on your part," Brennan countered. "I don't know if I can, in all good conscience, agree to such terms—"

Booth groaned at her words. "Bones, come on—" he lightly whined. "It's already past noon, it's still monsooning out, and we've kinda got a good thing going here that we'd be idiots to waste, so work with me a little bit, huh? For once, let's bend the rules just a bit, and not do the responsible thing—"

Whether it was his pleas or his lips on her neck that finally convinced her, Brennan really couldn't say.

"I really shouldn't—" she began in a soft, token protest.

"But, you will—" he breathed into the crook of her neck.

"You're having a very bad influence on me," Brennan said, as she tilted her head to reach for his lips. "Very bad."

"Mmmm, I know," Booth admitted. "And, it's only been eight days. Imagine what I'll have done to you by next week."

Although a small stab of panic shot through Brennan's body at the insinuation of his words, She pushed it away as she concentrated on the feel of his lips on her skin. Knowing she'd lost as soon as he started kissing her again, she pulled away slightly and looked him directly in the eye, "Fine. You win. I'll stay."

The toothy grin that Booth gave Brennan more than made her concession worth it as he leaned in and said, "God, I love you saying that."

"What?" Brennan chuckled. "Me telling you that you won?"

"No," Booth said with a shake of his head. "You telling me that you'll stay. I love it, Bones. Just friggin' love it."

"It _is _a rather novel concept, I'll grant you," she admitted. "But, there are a few conditions."

"What?" he said, narrowing his eyes as he wondered what Brennan was after.

"First," she said. "You're going to call Cam and dispatch to check in and take care of the details of us playing hooking."

"Hooky," Booth laughed. "Although hooking's not a bad metaphor of what I'd really like for us to be doing in pretty short order, I think what you mean is us playing _hooky_, Bones."

"Mmmm," Brennan shrugged. "Whatever." She then gave him a sly smile as she said, "Of course, if you play your proverbial cards right, I might not be adverse to the idea of you teaching me how to crosscheck you, Booth."

His eyes darkening a bit at her insinuation, Booth said, "Condition number two?"

"Food," Brennan said, and, as if on cue to illustrate her point, her stomach rumbled with loud emphasis. "I don't know how you can't be hungry since you haven't, to my knowledge, eaten anything but pie yesterday—"

Smiling mischievously, Booth waggled his eyebrows at her as he said, "I dunno, Bones. What I had yesterday was pretty good, and I don't just mean the cherry pie from the diner, although that was pretty awesome, too."

His words made her blush slightly, and she said, "I'm starving, so I want food."

"And, number 3?" Booth grinned at her.

"Warm clothing," Brennan said. "I want something warm to wear so I can get up and stretch a bit."

"Why?' he asked. "You can just stay in bed, and I'll bring you—"

"No," Brennan interrupted him. "Statistically, I believe my chances of getting a decent meal increase significantly if you know that I'm not naked and in your bed while in a receptive mindset for you to initiate another sexual encounter. Please, like I said, I want to stretch my legs a bit."

"Oh, fine," Booth grumbled as he released her with a sigh. "God, you are such a killjoy sometimes, Bones."

Throwing off the sheet, Booth threw his legs over the side of the bed and slowly stood up. He arched his back as he yawned once before he went to his dresser and pulled out the top drawer. Grabbing a fresh pair of boxers, he then reached into another drawer and open it. Rummaging around, he reached in and finally grabbed a royal blue t-shirt and tossed it to Brennan.

Looking down at the logo on it, she arched an eyebrow as she said, "The Phillies?"

"Quit complaining," Booth chuckled. "It's clean, it's warm, and it's just long enough to cover your ass, but will let me get a peek if you bend over the right way, huh?"

Brennan rolled her eyes as she pulled the blue t-shirt over her head. For his part, Booth pulled on the boxers, and then, reached into another drawer and pulled out a favorite pair of well-worn grey sweatpants. Pulling them on, he turned to her and said, "Ready now?"

Shaking her head, Brennan smiled at him prettily as she raised her right leg and shook her foot at him. "My feet are still cold." This time, it was Booth's turn to roll his eyes at her as he returned to the dresser for a third time, reached inside, and pulled a pair of thick white crew socks out and tossed them to her. Brennan frowned as she caught them and said, "What? I don't get to wear any of your crazy-patterned socks?"

"Nope," Booth said, shaking his head. "Don't push your luck, Bones. I'm very picky about my socks. Now, either take 'em or leave 'em, but those are it if you want socks."

Brennan sighed in a very exaggerated manner as she quickly unrolled the socks and pulled them onto her feet. Shaking her head as she stood, she sighed, "I had no idea that you were such a diva about your footwear, Booth, although I should've surmised as much."

Nodding at the door, he rolled his eyes as he said, "Yeah, yeah. Right. Now, you hungry or what?

"Coming," she replied prettily.

Once they entered the kitchen, Booth opened the refrigerator and began to rummage through its contents. "So, what are you in the mood for, Bones? The pickings are kinda slim, but I've got some leftover pizza—"

"Breakfast," Brennan suddenly interrupted him. "Can we have breakfast?"

Letting the refrigerator door shut, Booth said, "Sure. But, I don't suppose you'd be happy with a bowl of Cocoa Puffs, right?"

At the mention of the sugary sweet cereal, Brennan made a face.

"Guess not," Booth laughed.

"How about some coffee to start?" she asked.

Nodding, Booth said, "Now, coffee I can do—and do, pretty damn well, by the way." Moving to a cabinet, he reached inside and withdrew a vacuumed sealed bag of Dunkin' Donuts whole bean coffee. "You're in luck, Bones, because I only do the good stuff where my Cup o' Joe is concerned."

"Good stuff?" Brennan asked curiously. "But, that coffee is marked as a product of Dunkin' Donuts, not Starbucks, Booth."

Sighing, Booth arched an eyebrow at her as he said, "You didn't complain about the DnD yesterday as I recall, Bones."

"It was half past six in the morning, I was tired, cranky, and significantly unsatisfied due to my very strong sexual arousal, Booth. I probably would've smiled and said thank you if you turned up with the swill that the FBI attempts to pass off as coffee at the Hoover Building," Brennan observed wryly.

Again, sighing, Booth took the fresh-ground coffee beans and began to measure them into his coffee maker, with Brennan watching with curiosity. Unlike most bachelor kitchens, as Brennan already knew from many early morning and late nights of case work over the years, Booth had splurged and invested a fair bit of money into the deluxe Kitchen-aid gourmet coffeemaker that sat in a well-loved spot on his counter top. After he walked over to the sink, and filled the carafe with water, he brought it back and dumped it into the machine.

Brennan quirked an eyebrow at him, but pursed her lips together to keep from saying anything. However, Booth noticed and wagged a finger at her.

"Go ahead," he said.

"What?" Brennan blinked at him innocently.

"I know that look, Bones—I know it very, very well, thank you very much. And that look says that you've got some smartass comment hanging on the tip of your tongue, so go ahead and just say it," he finished with a slight smirk.

"I didn't say anything," she began to protest.

"But, you want to," he said. "Very badly. So—just say it."

"Fine," she said as she relaxed a bit in her demeanor and continued, "It just seems to me like a waste of effort to go to all the trouble to ground coffee beans fresh and use a quality appliance to brew coffee and then just use standard tap water instead of filtered—"

Rolling his eyes at her, Booth said, "You're probably right...but, since I didn't have time to run to the store this week to get a replacement for my Brita filter, because, I was, uh—more than bit busy dealing with some real _craziness _at work—" He stopped, met her eyes with a knowing smirk, and then continued, "You're just gonna have to deal, okay?"

"Like I said," Brennan nodded at him, "It was just a simple observation, Booth."

"Nothing's ever simple with you, Bones," he said with a small smile as he shook his head. "Never." Pausing for a minute, he finished making the coffee and turned on the machine.

Within a couple of minutes, the pungent aroma of coffee had begun to percolate throughout the kitchen, sending a wave of familiar comfort over the pair. As Booth waited for the coffee to finish brewing, he reached into the cabinet and withdrew two mugs. Setting them in front of Brennan, he nodded at her and said, "So...aside from the cup o' joe, you want breakfast food, huh?"

She nodded.

"Okay," he responded as he walked to the refrigerator again. "So, that means I need to see what type of rabbit food I have in here...hmmm."

"How about some fruit?" Brennan asked. "Fruit's good."

"Oh, yeah," Booth said with a nod as he shut the refrigerator door and began to move back towards the far counter. "I don't have a lot of stuff, but I do have a few oranges...and some bananas. Becks has been making me feed Parker more potassium-rich crap so I've had to stock bananas here like I'm a friggin' zookeeper with a pet monkey or something. I might have an apple or two here somewhere too..."

He went to where a nondescript bowl of oranges sat on the counter. A large bunch of bananas hung off a banana keeper hook, and Brennan watched in mild amusement as Booth began to shuffle some of the oranges to at last produce a shiny Granny Smith apple.

"Huh, Bones," he grinned at her as he tossed the apple in the air and jovially caught it with his hand. "Here we go...one shiny green apple just for you."

He tossed it to her, and Brennan caught the apple with a sharp flick of her wrist. She stared at it for a moment before she frowned a bit. "It's warm," she told him.

Tilting his head at her, he shrugged, "Yeah so?" Another thought then occurred to him as he said, "Wait a minute... you don't want to eat it whole, right? You want me to cut it up for ya, Bones? 'Cause, I can do that—no biggie. Give it here."

Booth reached for the apple, but Brennan moved a bit as she shook her head. "Well, yes, I do prefer my apples cored and sliced—"

"Then, give it here, Bones, and I'll slice and dice it for you," he said with an indulgent smile clearly present on his face.

Still, Brennan refused to hand over the apple as she repeated her earlier statement. "But, it's _warm_, Booth."

A look of non-comprehension fell across his face as he said, "So?"

"So," Brennan nodded. "I don't prefer to eat most of the fruit I consume at room temperature...particularly apples. I actually only really eat them when they're cold."

"Wait," Booth said with a shake of his head. "You don't like your fruit cooked, but you also don't like your fruit at room temperature?"

"Not all fruit," Brennan clarified. "But, apples—particularly Granny Smith apples, I prefer cold."

"Oh, for God's sakes," he said as he shot her a look of exasperation. "You're kidding me, right?"

"No," she said with a shake of her head. "I'm not."

At her words, Booth reached over and quickly swiped the apple from her hand, walked over, and tossed it in the freezer. "God, you're just like Goldilocks and the Three Bears."

Brennan scowled at him as he returned to the counter where the coffee maker sat and reached for a box of cereal.

"Booth?" Brennan asked when she saw what he was doing.

"Yeah, Bones?" he responded as he reached for a clean bowl.

"Aren't you going to wait for me?" she asked, a small frown crossing her face.

Nodding his head at the freezer, he said, "You're gonna have to wait for your apple to cool down, and I'm sorta hungry now."

"So, the answer would be no then," Brennan scowled.

Sighing, Booth set down his box of cereal as he said, "Ya know, Bones, you were the one who said she wanted food. I was fine in bed—minus you stealing my blanket."

"Booth," Brennan said, now taking full advantage of her ability to pout a bit to get what she wanted. "Come on...I'm hungry."

With another sigh, Booth rolled his eyes as he said, "Oh, fine. But, just so you know, this little pouting thing of yours is only working because you're in my Phillies shirt, so don't get too used to it."

At this, Brennan's visage brightened as she grinned. "So, other suggestions for breakfast would be?"

Snapping his fingers, Booth suddenly moved to the breadbox on the counter. "Hey, wait a minute. I forgot. I've got some bagels left in here that should still be good."

"Multi-grain?" Brennan asked hopefully.

Booth stopped mid-stride as he turned his head around and said, "No. Cinnamon Raisin or water bagels. But...I do have some cream cheese spread...strawberry and cinnamon sugar, I think."

"I normally prefer either low-fat plain or honey and almond if I'm splurging and not going with a light butter topping, Booth," Brennan said.

Growling a bit in frustration, Booth suddenly stalked over to where Brennan was and pulled her roughly against him. "God, you are a pain in my ass, you know that?"

Lifting her head so that her glance met his, her eyes were playfully shining as she said, "How about we do what we just should've done in the first place, and we call the diner for delivery?"

"Breakfast still?" Booth asked, considering the idea.

Brennan nodded. "Uh huh... I can get my oatmeal and fresh squeezed orange juice and you can have one of those disgustingly-filling caloric feasts you love with eggs and bacon and hashbrowns and—"

"You order," Booth said as he gave her what was to be a quick kiss that soon turned more passionate. His hands had just started to toy with the hem of her t-shirt, when she reluctantly danced out of his grip and gave him a playful wink.

"Later," she said. "Food first, play later."

"Then, you better hope that damn delivery guy gets here quick, because I can't make any promises as to how long I'm gonna behave, Bones," Booth told her.

"All you need to do is behave a little bit longer, and it'll be worth it," she told him with a grin as she reached for his cell phone from where it lay on the counter since hers was—as she'd likely surmised without having charged overnight—completely dead. "I promise."

Returning to pour them some of the coffee that had finished brewing as they'd discussed the persnickityness of Brennan's AM food appetites, Booth muttered, "And you better keep that promise, Bones. Or, I'm gonna be bad...very, _very _bad."

Shooting him a teasing look as she waited for the diner to pick up the other end of the phone, Brennan chuckled as she said, "Can I get that in writing, Booth?"

His responding look gave her all the promise that she needed.

* * *

><p>About an hour later, the breakfast cartons lay scattered on Booth's coffee table. Brennan held her nearly empty coffee mug in her hands, watching her partner munch on his fourth strip of bacon from the diner's take-out box. As he greedily chomped on the crisp piece of meat, she couldn't help herself as she made a face.<p>

"You know," she began. "Studies have shown that there is a definitive link between the onset and development of articular scelorsis and a diet high in fatty red meats and fried foods, Booth."

"Really?" he said, reaching into the box to retrieve the last tiny sliver of crispy bacon and popping it into his mouth with a smirk. "Studies have also shown a definitive link between a diet high in protein and ripped abs like these." Booth casually scratched his belly and leered at her with an arched eyebrow.

"It's not good for you, Booth, but you know that," she said with a disapproving frown on her face. "Besides, I'd like to know what studies you're citing. Web blogs from _The Onion _don't count, especially when I've been reading the _New England Journal of Medicine._" She paused and then said, "And, I'm not taking issues with the muscular tone of your abdominal musculature, Booth, so quit trying to distract me."

"You're only bitter because my distractions are so effective," he quipped, taking a sip of his coffee.

Draining the last of her coffee, she reached over and set the mug on the table and shook her head. "I've been accused of being many things in my life before, Booth, but I can honestly say that being bitter isn't one of them. Besides—" she stopped and narrowed her eyes as she tilted her head at him. "We both know that the only reason that you want to distract me is with the hope of achieving the second and third of your three primary goals for the day, since you've crossed off the first of them with that massive consumption of carbohydrates you just proverbially inhaled."

Leaning against her with his shoulder, he said, "Hey—protein, carbs, caffeine, and bacon are the four breakfast food groups, at least as far as the Booth food pyramid is concerned, I'll have you know." He grinned and shrugged. "But, you're right. Now that we've fed the beast, the beast is getting a little restless again." He reached over and tugged gently at the hem of his well-worn, royal blue Phillies T-shirt.

Rolling her eyes a bit, she sighed with a small smile as she said, "I was wondering which of the remaining goals would take priority for you—sleep or sex."

Booth chuckled. "Well, there's always enough time for sleep," he noted. "Besides, this little DnD caffeine buzz has got me kinda awake at the moment. Not sure I'm ready for a nap yet. I feel like we just woke up." He reached up and pulled at the collar of the T-shirt, sliding his hand under the fabric and stroking his index finger along her collarbone. "You have any ideas?"

"Stop that," she said with a playful swat of her hand. "You're awfully sure of yourself to think you can just blink those brown eyes of yours at me and expect me to fall into bed with you again, Booth. I'm not _that _easy, you know," she finished.

"Really?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye. "So you're saying it won't work? Or that you're not easy? Because, in either case, I'm not sure I follow you there, Bones."

"I believe that when you begin with our first sexual encounter in the SUV last night, combined with the efforts you exerted on my behalf last night when we returned here and our morning activities, I'm somewhat well satiated, Booth. I'm not certain I'm in as much desperate need of another orgasm as I was approximately twenty-four hours ago," Brennan blinked at him, trying to tease him a bit by maintaining as straight a face as possible.

Not to be outdone, Booth threaded his fingers through his hair and sighed. "Okay," he said, standing up and grabbing his coffee cup. "Well, I know I've got more than a little extra energy to burn off, so maybe I'll just go for a run."

Glancing at the clock, she frowned as she saw that it was now well past two o'clock. Her eyes darted out the window, and her frown deepened when she saw that it was still raining.

"So, is this your way of asking me to take pity on you, Booth?" Brennan asked as she turned her head back and looked over at her partner. "Since it would be a highly illogical decision to go for a run in this type of inclement weather, despite how much in need one might be of cardio exercise, this isn't your way of trying to manipulate me, is it?"

"Nope," he said with a shake of his head. "I already tried propositioning you directly, and sense, I guess you're not...well, ya know, in the mood—I'll just take care of business in some other way."

Arching an eyebrow, Brennan asked, "Is this your way of telling me you need to resume...well, how was it that you put it last night? That you've been 'jacking off every morning and night this week'?"

She looked at him, the picture of innocence as she waited for Booth to respond.

Although he flushed a bit at her words, Booth didn't miss a beat as he said, "No...I wasn't thinking about taking are of _that_ type of business...unless you wanted me to?" He finished his offer with a suggestive leer, and when Brennan rolled her eyes at him in response, he shrugged. "Well, you can't blame a guy for trying, right?" Brennan again gave him a simple look by way of response. "So, anyway...to answer your earlier question, when I said I might have to go take care of business another way was that I mean that a buddy of mine gave me a free pass to his gym, which is right down the street from here. And they've got these handy, new-fangled machines that you might not've heard of called treadmills, which let you jog indoors in any kind of weather. Even though I usually like running at the Greenbelt or at Rock Creek, I'm thinking today might be a good day to burn that free pass." He stopped, wondering how long they'd carry out the teasing. He then softened his voice as he looked at her and said, "Unless you've got a better idea?"

_No way you're winning this one, Booth, no way_, Brennan thought to herself. Her resolve hardened, Brennan nodded at him. "Ahh," Brennan said, standing up as she replied, "No. It sounds as if you have it all thought out, Booth, and well, then I should wish you luck with that."

For a split second, Booth had a strange look on his face, and Brennan's heart skipped a beat as she started to second guess herself. _Wait...did I misread him? He __was__ just joking, right? Oh, God_—_what if he wasn't? What if he's serious?_

Refusing to bite her lip as a sign of some of the uncertainty she felt since she wasn't quite certain what was supposed to happen next in the grand scheme of things between them since she'd apparently misread the situation, Brennan instantly started to revert to type as she fell back on old habits...and old crutches. "I believe I'm going to take this opportunity to get dressed and head home for a quick shower. I think I could use a few hours of uninterrupted sleep before I attempt to get some work done this evening."

Following Brennan's movements, Booth stood up, reached down, grabbed the two empty styrofoam take-out boxes and stacked them, before he looked over at his partner. He saw the slight crinkling of her forehead and in those fine lines read a certain anxiety in her expression. "Bones," he said softly, straightening up to a standing position, leaving the take-out boxes where they lay. "You know I'm kidding here, right?"

Feeling a flush of anger at the realization that not only had Booth actually won their little teasing standoff, but that she'd automatically second-guessed herself and thought the worst of things, Brennan looked away from him as she muttered, "You said things were about give and take between us, Booth. So, if you want to have sex because that's something I can give you, fine. You just have to tell me. But...if not, I'm not sure what the point is to merely engage in intercourse just because you have some excess energy." She took a step away from him and was only halted when he called out her name.

"Bones," Booth began. "Hey, wait a minute here."

"What?" she asked, finally looking at him, although she'd stopped moving.

Shaking his head, he said, "Hey, what's going on, huh? You were fine ten minutes ago. We finish eating and now it's like something's happened to flip a switch. What's up?"

"I—" Brennan stopped, sighed, and then said. "I'm not certain." Looking over at him, she asked, "Booth?"

"Yeah, Bones?"

"In all seriousness, I have a question that I'd like to ask you," she asked as something that she hadn't known until that very moment that she'd needed to know popped into her head.

Nodding at her, he replied, "Sure. What is it?"

"Putting aside the fact that it really would've been more appropriate for you to say that I was coming home last night to spend the time having sex with you—not that I mind that, by the way—" her voice trailed off, becoming a bit softer as she took a breath before continuing. "So, my question is...I did what you asked. I stayed. I've tried to stop counting. But, now, here we are—and what happens next?" She stopped and then took another breath before she looked up at him earnestly as she added, "When we leave here, what happens next? When I walk out that door, or you walk out that door, we both agreed we didn't want to go back to the insanity of the past week, and I do agree with that, wholeheartedly. But, how do we do that? Tomorrow's Friday. How do I go back into the lab with everything that's changed between us? What happens? What do we do?"

"Look," he said, taking a step forward and closing the distance between them. He raised his hand and gently clasped his fingers around her arm just above the elbow. "It's a rainy, dreary day. I was thinking we'd go into the bedroom, snuggle a little—" He smiled and raised his eyebrows, assuming she would figure out he meant more than a little snuggling would occur. "And then, well, maybe we make some popcorn, see what's on TV and maybe watch an old movie on TCM or something." He looked at her expectantly. "There's no agenda, Bones. No list of to-do's or things we have to accomplish today. Let's just hang out and enjoy each other's company, alright? Caroline was able to get Robinson transferred to federal custody, so we can deal with him in the morning. I called dispatch to check in like you wanted me to, and even texted Cam to let her know that we were gonna catch some sleep since we were out in the field so late. So, we're good now. All the craziness of the world will start up again first thing in the morning. Let's take the rest of the afternoon and just _be, _Bones. Just chill and enjoy things—enjoy _us_...just for the rest of today, okay?"

Brennan paused, considered his words, and then sighed. "We already did, that, Booth," Brennan began, the hesitation clear in her voice. "This morning, remember? The snuggling in the bedroom, and the sex that ensued...we did that once already, and I gladly did so, but...you've got to remember I'm not like you. I can delay thinking about things for a little bit, but, it's going to start driving me nuts if a big issue like this is hanging over me for the rest of the day. I need to have at least some type of idea of where I stand...where we stand with things." She stopped and then nodded at him and said, "You said I needed to tell you when I needed your help, Booth. Well, here it is—if you want to stop me from doing that thing I do and stressing myself out, I need to know...even if it's just a little bit, what comes next. If you want me to be able to enjoy thing, I need some idea of what happens next, even if it's just in a very vague sense."

Running his hand through his hair with a sigh, Booth tilted his head at her as he said, "So, I guess this means we have to do the 't-word,' huh?" _What are you trying to tell me here, Bones_? he thought to himself. "Hey, Bones," he said. "Look, we're in this together, right? We're going for a different outcome here, right? We're together, Bones. Whether we're in bed, sitting here on the couch eating carryout, watching a movie, kneeling in the dirt at a crime scene, or standing around the lab with the squints—we're gonna be together, alright? Things aren't going to go back to the way they were. We're moving forward, you and me, together." He cocked his head and pursed his lips as he scanned her face for a response.

"I'm scared, Booth," Brennan finally admitted, both to him and to herself in that moment, as she spoke in a very soft voice. "And, I know that you know that, but I'm scared...and I keep pushing that feeling in the pit of my stomach away, but I don't know if I can ever completely get rid of it. So, I'm...I'm afraid that when we walk out that door, you won't still be able to help me like you said you would—" her words trailed off, and she felt a renewed stab of panic at the idea of the life preserver that she'd latched onto the previous night—i.e., the life preserver of Booth's help to keep her from becoming unbalanced in the light of her emotional turmoil—would just suddenly disappear and leave her even further off course, adrift, than she'd been before she'd agreed to try to do as he'd asked of her and stop running.

Booth stared at her for a minute as she talked, feeling a tugging at his heart as he saw her struggle with not only telling him of her fears, but with the fears themselves.

"And, I don't know what to do about that but to try and reassure myself that things won't go back to how they were because I know the direction in which things are proceeding, and can take comfort from the fact that they are actually different from what's come before," Brennan said in one long-winded diatribe. "I need you tell not just tell me that we're moving forward, but I need to know _how _we're going to do that. And, more importantly, how do we do that without everyone in the world knowing it, Booth? Because, I have to tell you that I'm so embarrassed about how things stand in my professional life right now because of how I've acted this week, I can't even process it. I need to be able to fix that, and I can't fix that until I know my going on another human imitation of a sine wave in some grand display of random emotional inconsistency."

Booth listened to her and felt his heart clench, knowing she was trying so hard to make sense of everything that had happened to them in the past eight days. He could see from the look in her eyes and the tension in her jaw that she still felt wildly untethered, uncertain and directionless, and a part of him wanted to do anything he could to give her the clarity and direction she sought.

But another part of him, the part of him that had for decades coped with the uncertainty and randomness in his own life—going back to his boyhood days, really, when he never knew from one hour to the next what to expect when his father walked through the door at the end of a long day giving haircuts at the barber shop—by living his life in day-tight compartments. It was, Booth knew, his own kind of compartmentalization, and he felt a certain lightheadedness when he suddenly realized what Brennan was asking of him. He wanted to lose himself in her, and to forget about the world around them for just a day. They'd figure out tomorrow when tomorrow came, and next week when the new week rolled around, but for now, he just wanted to focus on _now _and the moments immediately following. But, hearing the waver in her normally measured voice, he knew he had to give her this.

"Bones," he said gently, a distinct tremble in his own voice as he spoke. "You want a plan?" He stroked his thumb under the hem of the T-shirt's sleeve and feeling the goosebumps that covered her silky skin.

She nodded, her eyes wide with trepidation and hope. "Yes—I-I...I need to know what comes next...so, some plan of action would be very, very helpful please."

"I—well," he said, hesitating. "I really don't know. I—" He felt a shiver as she blinked at him expectantly. "I normally lead with my heart on these kind of things, Bones. You know? But—well, look. If you want something more, well, structured I guess, then—" He swallowed and gave her arm a gentle squeeze. "Then I can do that. We can keep this thing, _us, _you know, on the QT for a while as we figure things out, because that should make it easier if it's just us, right? And—"

"On the QT?" she looked at him strangely as she suddenly interrupted him. "What...what does the mean?"

"It means that we'll keep things just between us," he explained, a grin breaking across his lips for the first time in several minutes. "After work, in the evenings, we'll be together, you and me, like this." He gestured vaguely in the space between them as he felt a warm pulse in his belly at the thought of he and Brennan being _together, _really together_. _The word itself gave him a tremendous satisfaction that he knew he could never articulate for her. "But at work, when we're on the clock, when I come over to the lab, it'll be us, just the way we've always been—before last week, that is." He smiled wryly. "And you'll know that, no matter what, no matter when or where, you can always pull me aside or call me, if you need to talk. Or tell me if you need a little space, okay?" He paused, letting go of her arm and rubbing his palm against her back. "As long as you _talk_ to me, alright? Don't keep me in the dark, okay?"

She simply nodded.

"Because that whole thing where you let this stuff rattle around the inside of your cranium—"

"Booth," she said. "You know there's really not a lot of free space between the bone of the cranium and the _dura mater _that—" He rolled his eyes. "Oh, metaphorically speaking. You're doing that again, because you do that a lot, don't you?" She asked with a tilt of her head. "Right."

Moving his hand to lightly cup her jaw, Booth said, "Yeah, Bones...us normal humans do have a tendency to do crazy stuff like that like that."

She rolled her eyes at him as she said, "Well, excuse me for being such an exceptional individual."

"Never," Booth said, as he let his hands drop to her hips as he pulled her into a lose embrace. "Never. I don't want you to change one bit."

"You sure about that?" Brennan asked. "Even when you said I'm being a pain in the ass?"

"Well," he said with the beginnings of a sheepish smile coming onto his face. "Okay, maybe just a little bit."

Frowning, Brennan moved to escape his grasp, but Booth held her firmly as he said, "Not so fast, Bones."

"What?" she asked. "I'm just—"

"Nope," he said with a shake of his head. "We're not done with the serious stuff yet, and I think you know that."

"We're not?" she said, a bit of a frown returning to mar her beautiful face.

"Nope, not yet," he said. "We need to make certain that we're on the same page here, because this is too important to have a miscommunication about, right? Because, you and I both know that thing we did all this week where each of us spent all that time thinking about what had happened and how we were feeling, but neither of us talked openly to the other about it?" He shook his head at the thought of how they each had behaved outwardly since the morning, almost exactly a week prior, when she had left his apartment. "It didn't turn out worth a shit. But this—us talking, being open with each other and ourselves—this is the only way we can make it work." Booth stopped, and gave her a lopsided grin as he said, "Because, you know, Bones...we _can_ make this work."

Unable to help herself, Brennan smiled a small smile as she said, "Even if we don't know what _this _is?"

"Yeah," Booth grinned at her. "Sure. Part of the fun in figuring it out's the not knowing, right?"

"Okay," Brennan said. "Then, for now, I think your suggestion that we keep the change in the status of our relationship just between us for now to be one that has merit." She stopped, looked away from Booth and said in a bit of a quieter voice. "Now that I think about it, it will also allow me the added benefit of being able to separate my personal and professional lives because they've bled far too much into each other over the past week for my liking, Booth."

Pausing, she raised a hand and smoothed her hand over one of the the wayward strands of his hair that was sticking straight up.

"That, of course," she said softly. "Doesn't mean that I regret the mixing of personal and professional that have led us to this juncture in our relationship, Booth—not at all. You know that, right?"

Smiling, he nodded. "Of course, I do, Bones."

"Good," she said. "Then, you also know how important my professional career is to me. In the past week, I've done a lot of damage to my reputation and my standing in the eyes of my colleagues and staff at the Jeffersonian. I need to make it a priority to repair that damage by reestablishing a pattern of calm and logical rationality in my professional demeanor so that any trust I've weakened...any doubtful opinions that others have developed of my work...can be corrected. I-I...I've got to make that a priority in the short term."

Booth nodded. "Don't worry, Bones, I get it...and I won't take it personally," he said with a small nod. "You've gotta do your thing in the land of Squints so your status as Queen of Squintland isn't in jeopardy. No problem. I've got no doubts whatsoever that you'll do what you need to do to get done what needs to get done...as long as you make ample time for me after hours."

"That shouldn't be a problem," she said with a familiar glint coming into her eyes as she licked her lips at the thought and her pupils started to dilate.

Booth had to resist the slight tug that he felt in his groin at the darkening of her eyes. Still needing to hear her say the words, just so there were no misunderstandings, Booth reluctantly pushed the subtle signals Brennan was sending him about things other than talking away. "So," he said, pursing his lips as he gathered his thoughts. "Are we okay here?" She blinked in momentary confusion. "I mean, do you feel a little better now, Bones?" he clarified. "I mean, that we kinda/sorta have a plan for how to work our way through this? Because I think, you and me, Bones, we can do anything we set our minds to, as long as we're in it together. Just like we always have." He smiled and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Are we good, Bones?"

By way of her answer, Brennan leaned in and gave Booth another gentle kiss. Sucking on his bottom lip for a minute, when she pulled away, she gave him a bright smile as she nodded. Standing up, she took a step away from him, and used both of her hands to reach for the hem of her t-shirt. Pulling the t-shirt up and over her head, she let it silently drop to the ground. Raising her hand, she crooked her index finger at him as she gave him a very sexy 'come hither' look.

"Booth?"

His eyes still round as he watched her without so much as blinking once, it took him a moment to process the fact that she'd actually spoken to him.

"Booth?" she repeated, a playful tone coming into her voice.

"Uhhhh," he finally looked up at her eyes and said, "What?"

"You know," she began. "I'm thinking that I might have a little extra energy to burn so...I think...if we wanted to try to see if we were still able to go for a different outcome again, I'm...I think I'm game to prove it again."

Her eyes lightened as she realized she'd used the correct euphemism. Winking at him, she turned and walked in the direction of the bedroom, leaving Booth standing alone in the living room.

"Booth?" Brennan called from the bedroom, her voice already husky and rough as she spoke. "Are you coming? I'm naked, spread out on your bed, and very, very sexually aroused? Where are you?"

With a blink towards the bedroom, it took Booth only a few seconds before he began to jog across the living room calling out as he closed the distance between them, "I'm there."

* * *

><p><strong>~The End~<strong>

* * *

><p><strong>AN2**: We really want to thank everyone who stuck with us through this long, crazy piece. (Long, as in _really_ long—the equivalent of a short novel—and _crazy_ because we took our heroes through the full gamut of angst, anger, love, tenderness, hope and every damn thing in between.) Without you, the readers—giving us your feedback and fueling our muses to continue as we endured the marathon of writing this kind of piece—we never would have been able to do it. So, for that, thank you. We hope, in the end, the journey was worth it.

Now, that the pleasantries have been gotten out of the way—the next question that we're sure is on everyone's mind: what comes next? Well, the honest answer is that it's up to you. Yes, we have a bucketful of ideas of what to do next...but, the next important question...does anyone want to see what comes next? If so...even if you've written a kind review (or two, or three, or four...or more)—well, we _still _need to hear from you. So, click that little 'review' button below...and let us know what you think of where we've been, where we are right now, and where we might go from here.

Yours in fanfic goodness, the erstwhile Lesera128 and dharmamonkey.~


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